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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078843">The Five Wardens</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuChulainnX19/pseuds/CuChulainnX19'>CuChulainnX19</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Multi, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Relationship Tags to Be Added - Freeform, Smut, Warden Polycule, cheap talk from a dragon, slow burn canon divergence, swooping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:35:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>84,125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuChulainnX19/pseuds/CuChulainnX19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Surana, just past his Harrowing, suffers an attack of conscience. Aided by a visiting Warden and mage, Elissa Cousland survives the destruction of her family and home. Kallian Tabris stabs a villainous nobleman, and Lyna Mahariel stumbles upon a Tainted relic of Arlathan. Hurled into the chaos, they fight, and the world will shake before them.</p><p>Follows the events of Origins as shaped by five Warden-survivors of Ostagar, and prefigures the consequences of their decisions in a world not arbitrarily constrained by the costs of sequel production.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Amell/Male Surana (Dragon Age), Female Cousland/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Female Cousland/Male Surana (Dragon Age), Female Cousland/Male Surana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Male Surana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Unquenchable Flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Julian Surana woke up feeling like he had been trampled by a legion of Pride demons. There had been one, he remembered—poorly disguised in his senior enchanter’s robes even if Julian had not been a talented and, of necessity, a disciplined dreamer. After that, though, something had happened, Mouse the Prideful casting off his deceitful form like dust and echoes, and a bright light, and something brushing against his being, some </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing, he knew not what</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and despite his exhausted state Julian smiled at the thought of the line from Magister Clauditus’ heretical essays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jowan was looking nervously at him, and he let the older apprentice ramble stammeringly while he fastened his robes before promising to speak later and making his way to Irving’s office. Apprentices and even older enchanters were gossiping about him in hushed whispers—”cleanest, quickest Harrowing he’d ever seen” was one snatch of conversation—but since Solona had gone south there was no one worth delaying Irving’s summons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he reached the upper floor that housed the most senior mages’ quarters, Julian had shaken off the last vestiges of his bleariness, and in fact felt more refreshed than he had in some time. Odd, he thought, and perhaps a cause for concern—but surely the Templars would have killed him were anything amiss, and at any rate he certainly hadn’t agreed to let anyone in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pride, he thought again. Cunning but foolish, even if it made Julian himself a fool for not identifying him immediately. The senior enchanter’s robes had been a bit of a giveaway, but it wasn’t until the end that Mouse’s characteristic timidity had faded away enough, in the spirit’s pursuit of its goal, for Julian to know who it was he was truly dealing with. A bit like the upper levels of the Circle, from what he’d heard: the fraternities were nothing but nests of vipers, treachery the only constant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being Irving’s star pupil had both allowed Julian a window into that world and promised a degree of influence no matter how he chose to enter it, but he felt himself fortunate in the extreme—at least as fortunate as one could be within the Circle—that the Fereldan Circle was smaller and the fraternities less powerful; he wouldn’t need to actually join the collaborators in order to keep his head down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voices echoed from the First Enchanter’s office as Julian approached: Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir, raised in familiar but unusually bitter acrimony, and a third, belonging, as Julian saw through the open door, to a stranger in blue and silver armor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve committed enough of our own to this war effort!” Commander Greagoir complained; perhaps the visitor was seeking more forces for the king’s army? But few Templars had been sent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our own?” Irving replied, his tone thick with irony. “When have you felt so much kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you simply afraid to let us out from under Chantry supervision, where we might actually use our Maker-given powers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian’s lip curled; it wasn’t often his mentor let his true feelings be known, especially when those feelings were critical of the Templars and Chantry. More importantly, his assessment had been correct. But who was requesting additional mages?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gentlemen, please!” the stranger insisted as Julian drew near, interrupting Greagoir’s insulted reply. “Irving, there is someone here to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First Enchanter?” Julian asked, approaching the trio near the center of the room. It was a trick he’d learned long ago, acting as much as possible as though Irving were the one most or even solely deserving of attention—which, given his status within the Circle, he often was. Of course, Greagoir was the only resident of the tower who flatly outranked Irving, but not only was it worthwhile to needle the man as long as doing so didn’t make him angry, it was established custom for mages not to address Templars unless the Templar addressed them first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, if it isn’t our new brother in the Circle,” Irving smiled his practiced, charming smile as he spread his arms in greeting. “Come, child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is…” the stranger asked as Julian carefully ignored Irving’s patronizing address. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the one I mentioned, yes,” Irving nodded. Greagoir showed himself out, and Julian took a moment to study the stranger. Dark-haired, bearded, with piercings and skin tone that suggested he might be Rivaini, carrying two swords on his back and a telltale griffon symbol on his silverite mail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Irving nodded distractedly to the Knight-Commander. “Well, then... where was I? Oh, yes, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Wardens had always fascinated Julian, whose half-elven, half-Tevene status and reclusive nature had left him isolated even within the tight-knit Circle. Though they swore their lives to a fatal cause, the Wardens were admired, and most of all free—even the mages. And now, with a battle brewing in the south, they were recruiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this why you had me summoned?” Julian asked, the hope slipping out of his mouth before he had a chance to contain it. Foolish, and not nearly the sort of control over his tongue he’d had when he danced around demons in the Fade the night before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Preconceptions, careless trust</span>
  </em>
  <span>… Pride’s words echoed in his memory even as he stared fixedly at the warrior’s iconic silver griffon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is something else,” Irving confirmed, “but I wanted you to meet Duncan first. You’ve heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect? Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king’s army at Ostagar.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian’s heart leapt in his chest. He could hardly have been ignorant of the war, but the main contingent of mages, including both Senior Enchanter Uldred—an oily, manipulative man whose place in Irving’s trust had always confused and concerned Julian—and his best friend and frequent lover, Solona Amell, had gone south weeks ago. The king’s army could surely not be the force in such need of new mages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mages are uniquely equipped to combat darkspawn,” Duncan observed, the straightforward appreciation for magic in his tone something Julian had rarely heard before, and then only from other mages, in hushed and careful whispers. “The power you wield is an asset to any army. I fear if we don’t drive the darkspawn back, we may face another Blight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irving brushed aside Duncan’s fears, speaking cheerfully of Julian’s success in his Harrowing and the delivery to Denerim of his phylactery, the leash that would lead the Templars to him if ever he strayed, even should he flee to the darkest depths of the Tirashan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, First Enchanter,” he bowed, taking silent but hopeful notice when Duncan reacted with irritation to the notion of their application. Irving dismissed him with one request, and Julian happily agreed to escort the Grey Wardens to their guest rooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for walking with me,” Duncan nodded to him as they began. “I am glad of the company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had hoped to speak to you a bit more,” Julian admitted, beginning to probe the Warden as carefully and respectfully as he could. Despite his warmth and insistent decency, Duncan proved remarkably tight-lipped about his purpose at the Circle, refusing to say openly what Julian hoped had been implied before. Still, he answered a few general questions, and Julian bowed respectfully as he left the Warden in his temporary chambers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had thought of seeking out Petra, or perhaps Cere or the clever, submissive pyromancer who’d arrived recently from Orlais—Varena, he thought—and seeing if any of them felt like helping him celebrate his promotion. As he left the guest rooms, however, he discovered that such a thing was not to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than Petra’s ever-serious smile or Cere’s suggestively raised brow, the face that awaited Julian as soon as Duncan’s door closed behind him was the harried, ill-shaven countenance of his awkward elder tagalong. Jowan immediately led him to the Circle Chantry, where he introduced Julian to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>initiate girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as if going steady was a thing mages were allowed to do (“My condolences,” he’d greeted her, unable to resist the barb at his approximately-a-friend), and then dropped another, larger fireball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jowan was suspected of blood magic, and Irving had signed the order to make him Tranquil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give us your word that you will help,” Lily pressed him, “and we will tell you what we intend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian had reached his station in the Circle—still formally low, but attended by general respect and the mild degree of protection that came with being Irving’s star pupil—by means of a studied cowardice. He hated the confinement of the Circle, hated the Templars and the Chantry and every self-righteous word of the Chant, but dissent was only the route to worse things. Even now his heart hammered at his ribs and he felt his mana itching at his fingertips as he found himself contemplating an unforgivable, immediate transgression of the Chantry’s most important rules. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, hell, he thought, breathing deeply. Perhaps it was time for an attack of conscience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” he nodded. “I’ll help. But you had better have a good plan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plan, such as it was, had its merits; at any rate, the pair certainly knew something about what they were up against. The risks to Julian were considerably greater; if they reached the phylactery, Jowan and Lily would essentially be free, even if they had to fight their way out in the end, but Julian was trapped, his only hope that the Grey Wardens really were interested in him—and that Duncan disapproved of the Chantry’s treatment of mages as much as, or far more than, he had hinted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian excused himself to eat while he turned over the details of the plan. It was midmorning already—he’d slept late after his Harrowing, then been dragged around the tower for meetings official and clandestine both—and he hadn’t eaten well at the main meal for several days, under the influence of creeping nerves about his coming Harrowing. Fortunately for him, Nicol was waiting in the meal hall with a napkin of dried perch and several slices of pear: meager enough, but Julian doubted whether he could have eaten more, with the combined anxieties of his promise to Jowan and Nicol’s hovering presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a Grey Warden in the tower, you know,” he said at length, just before Nicol could speak. “Duncan, he’s called; I think he and Irving have met before, but not in a long time. But here’s the odd thing: he says he’s recruiting for the king’s army.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But two dozen of us went south two weeks ago,” Nicol raised an eyebrow. “You think he’s recruiting for the Wardens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m almost sure of it,” Julian affirmed. “He said mages were ‘uniquely equipped’ to fight the darkspawn, and he didn’t seem terribly pleased when Irving told him about my phylactery. And,” he added, with sudden realization, “Irving said something to Greagoir, too, about mages getting out from under the Chantry’s yoke… I thought he was referring to the company that left already, but maybe not. The Wardens answer to no one and nothing but the need to battle the Blight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a whole career planned out, do you?” Nicol chuckled, filching one of Julian’s fish. “It’s not exactly a life of scholarship and warm beds, never mind the retirement plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you kill an archdemon, sure,” Julian shrugged, “but there </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wardens in Ferelden now, and a whole army already built up to hold back the horde. No one’s asking me to be Garahel, just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> giving someone in the Circle a chance to live a life that means something more than bowing to the Chantry until the end of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True enough,” Nicol smiled, a trace bitterly, and stood up from the table, tearing off the part of the fish he’d bitten into and tossing the rest back to Julian. “Come back for the rest of us someday, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian laughed and caught the half a perch. “Put in a good word for me if you cross paths with Duncan,” he replied with a grin. “Or try and get him to recruit you, and then come back for the rest of us yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If only,” Nicol replied, more somberly, and departed, leaving Julian alone in the hall—truly alone, he realized with a shudder of relief—to chew on his fish, his pear, and his thoughts. Could he really gamble his life, his very soul, on the idea that Duncan was interested in recruiting him specifically, and interested enough not to be dissuaded if he were caught red-handed breaking the most basic of the Circle’s rules?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t dare speak to Irving, even to confirm the allegations: Jowan was in danger, and if Irving was genuine about nothing else, he was truly crafty. That thought brought him up short again: did he trust Jowan that far, or not even care if the accusation was true? It did seem like a stretch, but all Julian could focus on was the thought of Jowan gone as placid and glassy-eyed as Owain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood abruptly, wrapping the remainder of the fish with excessive force and shoving the bundle under his new robes, and headed for the stockroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His resolve hardened on the way: Tranquility was a crime against the Maker, as far as Julian was concerned, and there could scarcely be an act of magic—even blood magic—equal to the cauterizing of a person’s soul. He had never known Owain the apprentice, but he had, albeit distantly, known Vima and Jan, both good, friendly people, and the stories that Cere had brought from Kirkwall were simply horrifying. </span>
</p><p><span>Owain, of course, placidly demanded his reasons for wanting a rod of fire, and Julian smoothly invented an inquiry into opposing magics, using diffuse cold and concentrated fire, which the Tranquil blithely</span> <span> interrupted, handing him a form to be signed by a senior enchanter, before his imagination ran out.</span></p><p>
  <span>(“Well,” he’d started, in the same half-hesitant tone he used to improvise a response to a complex theoretical question when he wasn’t quite sure of his phrasing but knew the underlying concepts well, “I’ve been specializing in elemental magics, you know, and there’s a fairly uninvestigated question about the interaction of concentrated and diffuse elemental effects: You can put a fire out with most ice spells, because of the local intensity of the cold, but if you keep the spell weak—of course, ordinarily the fire would burn right through, but there’s a middle ground that—well, the details are a bit quibbly, but I think there’s good reason to expect some very fruitful interactions. Only one element has to be held constant, so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(At which point Owain had finally cut him off, neither impatient nor weary nor possessing or lacking interest in the proposal, but simply because Julian had given him enough information to carry out the next step in his duties.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next step was to find a senior enchanter who wouldn’t think too hard about his request, and ideally wouldn’t remember their conversation after he was out of sight. Unfortunately, the only genuinely doddering senior Julian could find without clearly appearing to be in search of one was Sweeney the Elder, and although he undoubtedly could bamboozle the man, Julian didn’t feel up to facing him in conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, he thought, there just weren’t nearly as many doddering elders as it seemed intuitively—</span>
  <em>
    <span>prima facie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as the Tevinters said—that there should be in a carefully sheltered place like the Circle. At least Wynne and Uldred had gone to Ostagar, so he didn’t have to risk stumbling across either the chief healer’s piercing gaze or the oily Libertarian’s calculating stare. But that didn’t mean the senior enchanters who were still loitering around were easy marks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of which left him offering to clean out the storage caves for the recently promoted Senior Enchanter Leorah, a usually steady elven woman and long one of Julian’s favorite tutors. The added responsibilities, or perhaps simply the added stature and scrutiny, of her new position seemed to have rattled her, and Julian would have volunteered to lend a hand even if he hadn’t needed a Rod of Fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, at least, that’s what he thought before he encountered the spiders. He’d seen illustrations, and met more outlandish monstrosities in the Fade, but hairy, eight-legged creatures that could rear up on their back four legs to stand as tall as he was—and didn’t have the courtesy to burn well—were not the sort of thing he wanted to meet in a damp cave on his own, which unfortunately was exactly where he’d decided to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Julian wasn’t Irving’s star pupil for nothing, and if his greatest facility was with the most straightforward branch of magic, that simply meant his further study had allowed him to come up with more creative tricks. Freezing the spiders worked well enough, and left them more vulnerable to lightning, fire, even a stonefist or two, whatever the ebb and flow of his mana urged him to, and he made it out of the storage caves with nothing worse than a bruised knee and a harrowing tale—not that he had wanted another so soon after his actual Harrowing, but better two good stories than a spider bite or a demonic passenger. He’d even helped himself to a few shards of lyrium and a charm of fire resistance that he’d found in the spiders’ cocoons and a broken chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leorah gratefully signed the request form, and Julian took a moment to etch a fire glyph into the underside of the parchment, using one of the lyrium fragments held in the end of his sleeve. If he got caught, he didn’t want to bring Leorah down with him—Wynne or Uldred he might not have worried about, but Leorah was a good woman who cared for her fellow mages, at least when giant spiders weren’t involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear of discovery had cast a permanent pall over his thoughts, though, and he thought about trying to ditch the lyrium shards somewhere in case a Templar searched him. It was a paranoid, ridiculous thought; even mages who had drawn suspicion or attention on themselves—as Julian had always been painstakingly careful not to—were more likely to have their bed and other known haunts searched before the Templars would rifle through their pockets in the hallway… and yet, the worry remained. A crafty, cynical chessmaster Irving might be, but he would not sign off on a mage’s Tranquilization based on hearsay or the word of a Templar alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that it mattered now: Jowan, whatever the truth that he was withholding even more clearly than Pride had been, was out of options, and Julian had made his decision. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He returned to the Chantry hall near evening, late enough that they would have to hurry if Julian were not to be missed at dinner. Despite his misgivings, however, the plan actually worked, mostly. The hall outside the repository entrance was fortuitously deserted, allowing them to steal down into the undercroft without being seen either entering or loitering for an opportunity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Julian noticed about the cellars—or, rather, the stairs down to them—was the cold; despite the heft of the carven stones, and the thick earth into which the repository burrowed, the lake air had seemingly found channels that were cut off upstairs by wards no one had bothered to replicate for the cellar, and the draft raised goosebumps on his arms like one of Solona’s entropic spells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Chantry calls this entrance The Victims’ Door,” Lily said as they came up to a second door, the entrance to the actual cellar chambers. “It is built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original Templar. It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian frowned at the last statement, which Lily delivered far too matter-of-factly for it to come across as mere relation of another’s words, and he wondered what Jowan saw in her. The initiate proved her use, however, providing the password that allowed Julian to open the door with a touch of magic. Beyond the Victims’ Door lay two more: to the repository proper, on the right, and to the phylactery chamber, on the left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rod of fire, naturally enough, failed to work. Indeed, as the two mages quickly realized—and Julian wondered how he hadn’t noticed before—the entire section of the corridor leading to that door had wards carved into the stone to prevent the casting of any active magic whatsoever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the rest of the repository, fortunately, had no such warding. It did, however, have guards in the form of animated suits of armor—but, unlike the phylactery door, those sentinels buckled under Julian’s assault of frost, fire, and stone, though he frowned again at Lily’s fearful declaration that the spectral guardians, clearly set in place with her own superiors’ blessing, were “not of the Maker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jowan,” he whispered, as he knelt to retrieve an enchanted belt worn by a more spectral, though not insubstantial, spellcasting sentinel, “are you certain you’ll be able to have a happy life with this girl? She doesn’t seem very well inclined toward magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to give it up,” Jowan whispered back. “I know it’s part of me, but I’ve never been very good at it—and you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> magic to live an honest life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Julian conceded, “I suppose it’s better than Tranquility. Just don’t stick around if it turns toxic long enough for her to call the Templars on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple dingy rooms and a dozen sentinels later, they reached the main chamber of the principal repository. It was a great, vaulted room, entirely at odds with the dungeons annexed to it, with intricately carved pillars and eternal torches that bathed the chamber in warm light. The ceiling was simply but artfully painted, and all manner of artifacts enticed the eye, even distracting Julian from the poor repair of one wall until Jowan pointed it out. In one corner stood a statue that, it told them, had once been the body—and still held the spirit—of an ancient Tevene seeress; Lily’s reaction only soured Julian’s opinion of her further, but Eleni Zenovia needed nothing and they could do nothing for her, so the mages turned to a Tevinter spell amplifier, with which they were able to blast (Julian cringed at the loud destruction) through a decrepit wall—fortunately, directly into the phylactery chamber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More Sentinels awaited on the other side, but were easily dispatched, and it took only minutes to find Jowan’s phylactery. The apprentice marveled at the blood-filled vial, the leash on his soul and root of so much suffering, for only a moment before smashing it on the cold stone of the chamber floor, and they headed for the exit with all speed. As they exited the repository, however, Julian’s worst fears suddenly crystallized: Irving, Greagoir, and a half-dozen templars were waiting for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irving’s disappointed frown (and blinkered acceptance of Julian’s assertion that he’d stolen nothing from the repository, certainly not the staff in his hand) meant less to Julian than the sudden fear for his life, and he cared not at all for Jowan’s verbal sparring with Greagoir, but then the Knight-Commander ordered Lily taken to the Aeonar. In a flash, Jowan drew a knife, dashed down the templars, and—Lily’s fearful eyes burning a hole in his back—fled the Tower while Julian knelt beside the fallen First Enchanter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greagoir, for his part, recovered swiftly on his own and wasted no time lambasting Irving for his hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we have a blood mage on the loose,” he cried, “and no way to track him down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Julian snarked, exulting privately at the destruction of Jowan’s phylactery. Oh, he had lied, and proven time and again that he had terrible judgement, but unless he truly put his foot in things his would be one mage’s life the Chantry would not destroy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(In truth, he cared less than he would have expected himself to that Jowan had in fact been a blood mage: though he had no firm reason to, he trusted his friend’s sense of decency—the man who was so horrified by the very thought of the Tranquil would never use his magic, any magic, to make victims of innocent men and women. And that, not the material use of one's own blood, was what the first Divine Justinia had defined as the line between mage and maleficar.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greagoir was not amused. He spared only a moment to order Lily taken away, and though the Aeonar was no place for any person, much less someone without magic, Julian found it hard to feel for her. He was, at the very least, too busy worrying for himself, with Greagoir’s ire outweighing Irving’s patient acceptance of his brazen lie that he had taken nothing from the repository, least of all the staff in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea he was a blood mage,” Julian stated as calmly as possible. He would still be in for a world of pain, of course, but there was a slim chance, if the Knight-Commander believed him, that he might be spared Tranquility. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or such was his plan, until the Grey Wardens arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knight-Commander,” came the welcome voice of Duncan, “if I may, I am not only looking for mages to join the king’s army, I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens.” The Grey Warden’s gaze was focused and unflinching, and Julian’s heart leapt at the promise of his intervention. “Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like to have him join our ranks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was possible, Greagoir became even angrier at that prospect. For the first time all day, Julian felt true joy—oh, he remembered everything he had read about Grey Wardens, the sacrifices they made, the one sacrifice that he guessed was made but that was never spoken of, and for all that he’d laughed with Nicol, there was likely worse to come. But joining the Wardens would get him out of the Circle, and as a bonus it would make Greagoir angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the Grey Wardens will have me,” he said, smiling, with a deferential nod to the Warden-Commander, “then I will gladly go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greagoir,” Duncan reminded the Knight-Commander, “mages are needed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> mage is needed. Worse things plague the world than blood mages—you know that. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for his actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian ignored Greagoir’s ranting about losing control of mages—”our mages,” as if they were chattels, like elves in the Tevinter Imperium—and, thanking Irving, turned to follow Duncan, smiling as, for the first time in his life, he walked </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> through the great doors and put the Circle behind himself forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Duncan asked a few questions as Kester—as the boatman introduced himself—rowed them across the lake, and though Julian did his best to answer, his attention was dominated by the clear, darkening sky. He wondered, briefly, how Jowan had planned to cross the lake; perhaps he had a blood spell that would allow him to breathe underwater, like a fish. Then he dismissed the thought and went back to looking at the stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoying the view?” Duncan’s tone was resigned but fond, and Julian realized he’d drifted off on his rescuer—and new commander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Uh, sorry,” he snapped his head back down to face the Warden-Commander. “I just—I’ve never seen actual stars. Not in years, anyways. And the water…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off, dipping his fingers in the lake and marveling at the depth and expanse of the great body of water. The very knowledge of the lake’s existence dissuaded more escape attempts than the existence of their phylacteries did, Julian guessed, and now he had been carried across it with official sanction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Duncan smiled indulgently and gestured to his side. “But we are across the lake now. I had hoped to stay the night at the Tower and leave in the morning, but I have the coin for lodging at the inn. We will camp on the road most of the way to Ostagar, but we Wardens do not live our whole lives in the wilds—or underground—and a few comforts are not to be dismissed when they are available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian nodded, clutching the sides of the boat carefully until Duncan and Kester helped him off, and did his best not to stare like an infant as the Warden-Commander escorted him into the undiscovered world of ordinary men.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, Julian: overconfidence is his weakness, and your faith in your friends is yours. </p><p>Obviously I'm taking Anders' line in DA2 and running with it; I was also struck on my last playthrough by how deeply anti-magic Lily appears to be, such that one wonders how she got involved with a mage in the first place. The line about Magister Clausus (not a canon DA figure, to my knowledge) is a reference to John Locke's description of the concept of "substance" in his Essay Concerning Human Understanding.</p><p>Nicol is a one-off OC; I wanted to give some sense of Julian's life in the Circle beyond the maybe two or three people who recognize you at any point in-game.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Unquenchable Flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elissa Cousland sauntered through the crowd of soldiers milling about the Highever forecourt. Soldiers from Amaranthine mingled with the Highever guard, some talking idly, others getting into marching order as they prepared to ride for Ostagar. The doors parted easily before her, and Elissa continued into the great hall, at the end of which her father stood in conversation with the cause of the commotion outside: Arl Rendon Howe. </p><p>Their conversation was quickly forgotten as Elissa neared them; her father broke into a smile and reintroduced her to the arl. Though he was an old friend of her father’s the pinch-faced man made Elissa uneasy, and his son, whom he clearly hoped for her to marry, was positively distasteful, but her father steered the conversation deftly to inform her that she would be left in charge of Highever while he and Fergus—first in line, and thus needing to prove his worth as a warlord—rode to Ostagar. </p><p>“I’ll do my best, father,” Elissa nodded, heart clenching despite herself: the temporary authority she would exercise would only remind her, she knew, of the very possible tragedy that would be required to keep her in Highever past the next few years.</p><p>“I’m sure you will, Pup,” her father smiled. “Be sure to keep a firm hand. You remember what they say about mice when the cat’s away. But for now, there’s someone I wanted you to meet.” Turning to a guard, he called, “Show in Duncan and his guest, please.”</p><p>The door swung open at his command, and for a brief moment Elissa shared something with Arl Howe: stunned surprise, as she watched a bearded Rivaini man—a warrior, wearing sword and dagger across his back—and a handsome, elf-eared mage stride across the hall. It was not the warrior’s nation, stature, or unusual companion that so surprised them, however, but his armor, which bore the distinctive blue and silver of the Grey Wardens.</p><p>Howe’s alarmed, awkward protests of the protocol demanded by so esteemed a visitor, and her father’s own questions to her—as if she were an infant, to forget her lessons on the Grey Wardens!—passed in a blur with the amazement of having an actual Warden standing in the halls of Highever. His name was Duncan, and he was, it seemed, an old friend of her father’s; his companion was Julian Surana, a mage just taken from the Circle to join the Wardens himself.</p><p>“If I might be so bold,” Duncan noted, “I believe your daughter would make an excellent candidate.”</p><p>Though Elissa felt flattered, her father reacted coldly, moving with quick steps to interpose himself between her and the Warden. “Honor though that might be,” he intoned sharply, “this is my daughter we’re talking about.”</p><p>“Is there a reason I shouldn’t join them?” Elissa asked, surprised by her father’s vehemence. Fergus stood to inherit, not her, and there were worse causes to dedicate herself to than the ultimate protective mission of the Wardens.</p><p>Duncan placated her father first; the Warden was circling the country in a last-ditch effort to find more recruits, but—especially given the mage he had already recruited—he would not force the issue. That seemed to smooth things over, though Elissa found herself still wondering what it would be like to join the Wardens, set off from Highever with the most important calling in the world before her and only memories behind.</p><p>“In the meantime,” her father told her, already shifting into the teyrn who would shortly march to war, “find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me.” Something was the matter with Howe’s men, it seemed, and her father intended to delay himself and ride with his old friend; sensible enough, if a questionable choice as leader of his own troops, but it was not Elissa’s place to judge, not nearly yet.</p><p>Ser Roderick Gilmore’s news, as she rounded the corner, that Dane had gotten into the larder again was an irritating interruption, but an accustomed price of being the mistress of a mabari who not only imprinted on her but would listen to her alone. In the kitchen, Nan’s abuse of the elven servants drew Elissa’s lips together tightly, but she had no power to intervene with the temperamental old woman who’d nearly raised her, so she simply weathered her own, better-earned, share of the storm and entered the larder—where, as it turned out, Dane had cornered nearly a dozen grossly oversized rats. </p><p>“It’s like the start of every bad adventure tale my dad used to tell,” Ser Roderick groused as they surveyed the bloody mess. “Those were rats from the Korcari Wilds.” He left her there, being due to prepare the great hall for more arrivals from Amaranthine, and Elissa once more headed for her brother.</p><p>Before she could reach Fergus, however, she was waylaid again, this time by stumbling across her mother conversing in the pathway with Lady Landra, the wife of Bann Loren, her son Dairren, and her lady-in-waiting; Elissa caught the tail end of an anecdote about a charm from Orlais before her mother saw her and Dane, noting the hound’s presence primly. Elissa left out the giant rats; if they were from the Korcari Wilds, then there was likely more to their arrival on the far side of Ferelden than was worth disrupting her mother’s afternoon for.</p><p>Instead, she danced around Lady Landra’s recollections of their previous meeting, when she had made “a very poor case” for her to marry her son—who was on his own a much better argument for the idea, in Elissa’s mind—and ignored her mother’s needling to flirt with Dairren. She considered suggesting they continue their discussion in the library, but the thought of the visiting mage made her hesitate, and she simply smiled over her shoulder as she went to find her brother.</p><p>Fergus was, of course, in his rooms, bidding farewell to Oriana and Oren, Elissa’s sister-in-law and nephew, who was already eager to begin learning the arts of war.</p><p>“Is there really going to be a war, papa?” Oren was asking. “Will you bring me back a sward?”</p><p>"That’s <em> sword</em>, pup,” Fergus laughed as he corrected his son; Elissa smiled at their banter and Fergus’ own use of their father’s old nickname for the two of them. The young boy was a teyrn’s heir indeed, and Elissa almost laughed herself as Fergus and Oriana said their goodbyes.</p><p>Fergus was almost six years her senior, but Elissa’s affection for her brother was undiminished by the fact that they had rarely been in the same part of their lives at once. Regretfully, she added to her goodbye their father’s instructions, and Fergus girded himself—metaphorically, being already dressed for the march—to depart, just as their parents entered the room for their own goodbyes. </p><p>“Fergus will be fine,” Elissa tried to reassure her mother, knowing herself that battling darkspawn carried unique dangers, the very reason that the Grey Wardens had first been formed. She made equivalent assurances to her brother, and playfully ignored her mother’s needling in response as they walked together to the gates, where they stood together in the late Ferventis sun and watched Fergus lead the soldiers of Highever to war.</p><p>When the gates swung closed behind them, Elissa embraced her parents again and took herself to the library, meaning to find comfort in the memories woven like tapestries into the books and cabinets and chairs: the old oak shelves, the tooled goatskin and silver clasps of her grandfather’s oldest treasures, and the soft Nevarran rag-paper pages of most of the collection.</p><p>Her anticipation of solitude was disrupted, however, by the presence of Julian Surana. The mage was hunched over one of Genitivi’s works, his bronze hair catching the afternoon light as he murmured what sounded like critical commentary under his breath. She coughed and he looked up, startled.</p><p>“Oh, Lady Elissa!” He bowed as well as he could while already leaning over a table. “I apologize for the intrusion; your father suggested I wait here while Duncan considers potential recruits. This truly is a wonderful collection.”</p><p>“It was largely my grandfather’s,” Elissa explained, accepting the compliment, trailing a finger along a shelf as she called up fond memories from girlhood. “But I come here often to read, whenever I'm not practicing combat or studying.”</p><p>“Reading was the one pleasure truly allowed to us in the Circle,” Julian smiled. “Sadly, the material was often lacking, but if you knew where to look, you could always find something interesting. Genitivi is one of my favorites among our more modern authors: so few write with his desire to truly understand those unlike ourselves, much less to share that understanding with their readers.”</p><p>“Well, it is a rare feature among the Chantry leadership to prefer truth to doctrine,” Elissa noted dryly, “or political convenience. That’s not to say I don’t believe,” she added quickly, shrugging helplessly as she continued, “I’m just… not quite sure what it is that I believe.”</p><p>Julian hummed, closing the book—<em>Myths and Legends</em>, volume three—and replaced it carefully on the shelf it had come from; Elissa supposed that a lifetime among rare texts such as the Circle of Magi was said to possess would inculcate a certain careful dexterity in handling books of any kind. Finally, Julian turned and asked, casually, “What do you believe about mages, then?”</p><p>Elissa paused. Despite her grandfather’s extensive collection, her knowledge of mages was heavily Chantry-supplied, and vague as well. “Nothing I would trust to guide my treatment of a mage, at any rate,” she replied.</p><p>“Ignorance is a dangerous state, my lady,” Julian chuckled softly, almost winking, “but at least you acknowledge it. Perhaps I could enlighten you, if you have questions?”</p><p>“Here or in my chambers?” Elissa asked softly, impulsively. They hadn’t quite been flirting, but his change in tone suggested he had been looking at her much as she had studied him (he had fine features, almost aristocratic but perhaps suggestive instead of his obvious elven heritage, paired with decidedly human proportions), but even so, she worried for a moment that she had been too forward and insulted him.</p><p>Julian, however, simply laughed again, quietly. “Libraries <em> are </em> known to be a favorite place for mages to… enlighten one another,” he noted dryly, “but I must admit the idea of conducting such study in private chambers is quite a tempting novelty.”</p><p>Elissa turned her back deliberately and locked the study door. “Why don’t you show me what you know, then,” she suggested, leaning against the heavy oak, “and after dinner I can introduce you to the… <em> pleasures </em> of true privacy?”</p><p>The mage crossed the space between them in a near-literal flash (Had he used magic even for that?) and pinned her against the door. Overpowered by the moment and excited to discover how mages enjoyed themselves, she allowed him to dominate their kiss, hands rising late as he fumbled with the clasps of her brigandine. She could punish his clumsiness later, she thought—but then strands of magic flared across her armor, and the plates and mail were worked aside with startling swiftness to expose her to his Fade-touched hands.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>That night, everything ended.</p><p>Dinner had been a quiet yet ostentatiously formal affair, as she aided her parents in hosting both an old and distinguished family friend in Rendon Howe, another friend and ally in Lady Landra and her son, and a pair of visiting Grey Wardens. At length, they had escaped the arl’s hawklike gaze and Lady Landra’s meandering, matchmaking reminisces, and Elissa showed Julian as swiftly as could be called decorous to her quarters, casting aside her outer layers as the mage laid a charm of privacy on her door.</p><p>“Robes off, and on your knees,” she commanded as he turned to face her, a teasing smirk hinting at the corners of her lips. “There’s a price to be paid for <em>accosting</em> a woman of noble birth, you know, and I will have it from you.”</p><p>A knowing look flashed in the mage’s eyes, and he complied without hesitation, already half-hard as she took him by the hair. The last of her formalwear posed far less of a challenge than her armor had, and she held him between her legs until she crested, leaning against the wall of her room, before guiding him onto the bed to exploit his talents more thoroughly.</p><p>Of course, she realized sometime later, it had perhaps been a (fortunate) mistake to imagine she could hold onto her control in such a situation, and sure enough somewhere between riding his face a second or third time and using her hands and tongue to make him spill across his stomach, though certainly before he had delivered the spanking she had earlier considered giving him, their positions became quite thoroughly, if pleasingly, reversed.</p><p>“Would you like to come again, my lady?” he purred in her ear, pressed hard against her body as she writhed, limbs bound to each post of her bed. She had done so already several times under his touch, nearly exhausted after using him on her own terms, and yet her last peak felt as if it had been hours ago, as though he had discovered some transgressive thrill, given true privacy at last, in drawing out her need until it threatened to consume her entirely.</p><p>She moaned, unable to respond verbally: one hand danced spirit-like over her breasts, bringing her dangerously near her peak by that touch alone, while his other rested at the base of her neck, the sense of control leaving her tongue pressed dumbly against her lower teeth. He let another spark leap to her nipple, turning her moan into a keening whimper as her hips bucked helplessly.</p><p>“Beg for it, pet,” he murmured, kissing her lower lip and dipping lower as he moved his hips in perfect synchronicity with hers. “Save control for the banns and arls, my little teyrna. Leave your control for your lords and ladies, and beg me to use you. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to own you. <em>Beg me, now.”</em></p><p>He lifted himself off her as her tongue came free, a broken cry issuing between her lips as he drew a single nail along the side of her breast, and she obeyed. When she called him <em>mage</em> in a tone of pleading, abject surrender, he worked his fingers between her legs in reward, stroking and circling until she lost her voice again, before finally giving her what she wanted.</p><p>Sleep claimed them not long after, though Julian at least had the presence of mind to clean them with his magic, and Elissa drifted off with the vague hope of waking well before it was time to rise for the next day’s chaotic summons.</p><p>But despite the late hour and their own exhaustion, Elissa and Julian both awoke only hours later, with the night outside only just beginning to lighten, to the agitated and insistent barking of Dane. Julian apologized for being unable to quiet the hound, but Elissa was more focused on what could have provoked her mabari in the first place.</p><p>“I thought I heard yelling when I woke up,” the mage admitted as he pulled on his robes, “but now there’s nothing.”</p><p>Dane barked again, and Julian, muttering a cautious spell, went to the door.</p><p>A moment later, he lurched back with a curse, clutching a glowing hand to his arrow-pierced shoulder and casting lightning from the other. Over his shoulder, Elissa could see—and hear—armed men falling under his assault, the shields of those who carried them bearing the crest of Amaranthine.</p><p>“They shot me!” Julian cried as he gestured, tossing the last man into the far wall with a heavy crack. “I can’t believe they tried to shoot me!”</p><p>Not wasting time wondering why her father’s friend’s soldiers were attacking their hosts, Elissa rushed for her armor, throwing on her mail and coat and hurriedly fastening her boots and greaves—and feeling fortunate indeed for Highever’s seafaring traditions as she donned her armor single-handedly—while Julian stood watch at the door.</p><p>As Elissa followed the mage from her room, intent on finding the origin of the attack and its extent, and fearing for her sleeping parents, Elissa’s mother ran up to her, fully armored and with bow and quiver slung across her shoulders. The teyrna confirmed what her daughter had feared: all over the castle, Howe’s men were attacking in the dead of night, inciting civil war under cover of hospitality. And regardless of their motives, they had an advantage in the absence of Highever’s usual guard.</p><p>“I don’t know, Mother,” Elissa urged, “but we need to get out of here.”</p><p>“Have you seen your father?” her mother asked in reply. “He never came to bed!”</p><p>“Maybe he stayed up with Arl Howe,” Elissa proposed. That was a terrifying thought; if the arl had indeed sanctioned this betrayal, her father was likely dead already by Howe’s hand, unless he had bested the traitor personally when he pulled his knife. </p><p>They made one detour, to check on Oriana and Oren, only to find Elissa’s sister-in-law and young nephew dead on the ground in their room, clearly having been woken before they were put to the sword. Fury twisted in her gut, and Elissa tightened her grip on her sword, the thought of its razor edge and the heft of her shield a bulwark against delirious grief. From that point on, her focus narrowed to defending her life and her mother’s, and eviscerating every single Amaranthine miscreant who crossed her path.</p><p>More guards were waiting outside their apartments, and beyond them Lady Landra, along with her son and maid, were dead in their own guest rooms. Everyone in Highever, it seemed, was either a conspirator or marked for death. There was resistance, of course, from the remaining Highever knights and from simple servants with their daggers, and Elissa, her mother, and Julian cut and shot and burned down the invaders they encountered, but Howe’s men were everywhere, and those loyal who could survive long enough could at best hope to escape: the castle, for now, was lost. Her mother led them quickly to the armory, and Elissa exchanged her own sword and shield for the family heirlooms—precious symbols, but also powerful in battle, and for both reasons treasures Howe could not be allowed to gain.</p><p>They found Ser Gilmore at the castle gates, marshaling the few knights and men-at-arms who had remained behind, either to ride with her father in person or to assist her in keeping the peace. Julian scowled at their impending sacrifice and raised a hand toward the quivering doors.</p><p>“Stand well back,” he warned the knights, as a blood-red sigil glowed on the suddenly stone-flecked wood. “That’s a glyph of binding and immolation; the first sons of the Taint who break down that door will get one nasty surprise. I would stay and do more, but I need to find Duncan, and the teyrn.”</p><p>“I saw Teyrn Bryce earlier,” Ser Gilmore supplied. “He was badly wounded, but determined to find you, my ladies. He was heading for the kitchen—the servants’ exit, I believe. I’ve not seen Duncan, but I thank you for the help, ser mage.”</p><p>“Bless you, Ser Gilmore,” Elissa’s mother bowed her head in recognition, and the three of them hurried in pursuit of the teyrn.</p><p> Nan and the elves lay dead in the kitchen, a knife in one servant’s hand and blood on every surface; Elissa’s father was alive in the larder, but wounded badly. Duncan, he said, had brought him there discreetly, but the Grey Warden was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“Someone… must reach Fergus,” her father managed through his injuries. “Tell him… what has happened.”</p><p>“You can tell him yourself, Father,” Elissa insisted, her panic ruthlessly, desperately refusing to admit what was plain before her eyes. Julian knelt beside her, his hands glowing with healing magic, but the mage shook his head and cursed in despair.</p><p>“If I were a spirit healer, perhaps,” he said, in response to Elissa’s desperate look, “but I’m a middling healer, and his wounds are deep, and I’ve used too much mana tonight already. Please,” he closed his eyes as if praying, “Wisdom, Compassion, <em> somebody</em>—”</p><p>“Do not risk possession for my sake,” the teyrn pressed him, but Julian shook his head.</p><p>“It’s not possession, it’s—it’s sharing,” he replied. “The templars watch closely, but there’s no real risk to this, only you need a truly benevolent spirit, and… they’ve all left this place. I’m sorry,”</p><p>Desperate though his wife and daughter were, the teyrn had already given up hope for his own life. And so had Duncan, when the Grey Warden reentered the larder, blood-covered but pleased by their appearance, and unsurprised by Elissa’s role in their safe passage.</p><p>“Duncan, I beg you!” Elissa’s father coughed, “Take my wife and daughter to safety!” </p><p>The Warden nodded solemnly. “I will. But I must ask something in return.”</p><p>The teyrn assented without hesitation, appearing more desperate in the face of Duncan’s imposing presence than Elissa had felt in the throes of despairing panic for his life—his life, which he had resigned to the blades of Howe’s men. Duncan’s favor was predictable, and Ser Gilmore, the closest to Elissa in skill and bravery, was at that moment preparing to sacrifice his own life for theirs. She was to become a Grey Warden, after all.</p><p>“So long as justice comes to Howe,” her father rasped, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, “I agree.”</p><p>“Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens,” Duncan turned to Elissa. “Fight with us.”</p><p>She clutched her father’s hand one last time, feeling the warmth of his palm and his fading pulse. Julian still knelt beside her, a Warden-recruit already, and Duncan had said before that there might be others still, but in the face of her father’s resignation she nodded, echoing his words.</p><p>“So long as justice comes to Howe,” she repeated, “I accept your offer.”</p><p>Her mother, however, did not.</p><p>“Hush, Bryce,” she addressed her wounded husband. “I’ll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won’t abandon you.”</p><p>Julian fumbled to offer a pendant that her mother pushed away, and Elissa’s vision blurred as her heart fixed itself on Fergus’ survival in the south. He would be the teyrn of Highever, or else a new family would come to rule. Howe’s death and the death of darkspawn were Elissa’s only remaining responsibilities.</p><p>Blinking away her tears to fix her parents’ faces in her mind, she wept, “I love you both so much.”</p><p>“Then live, darling,” her mother told her, her voice tense with love and sorrow. “Become a Grey Warden, and do what is right.”</p><p>“Go, pup,” her father urged. “Tell Fergus. It’s up to the two of you now.”</p><p>The spiteful roar of Julian’s glyph echoed through the castle, signaling the destruction of the gates, and Duncan pulled her away, Dane close on her heels. There was no time left to do anything but run.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Due to the differences between game logic and written narrative, as well as contradictions between mechanics, animation constraints, and party banter, I will be messing with a few aspects of combat and martial equipment as portrayed in DA.<br/>In this chapter, Elissa's "mail and coat" refers to a chainmail shirt (i.e. a hauberk) and a brigandine, a cloth jacket with metal plates riveted to the inside, a form of armor favored mostly by men-at-arms but also worn by knights, and used throughout the medieval period. It was less protective than full plate, which the Couslands could certainly afford, but offered greater mobility than plate armor and would presumably be safer for use at sea, as well as easier to put on single-handedly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Traditions of Injustice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kallian Tabris was not looking forward to marriage, but then there was little to look forward to given who, or rather what, she was and where and when she had been born. The last vestiges of Elven civilization had been plundered by the Chantry Ages ago, her people herded into crowded alienages where selfish, fanatical humans wielded the power of life and death over them and forbade them any means of improving their station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t make it unsurprising when the arl’s son—the gross offspring of a gross man, may the Maker cast him into the Void—invaded the alienage, got himself cold-cocked by a skinny elven girl in the form of her cousin Shianni, and then came back in hardly half an hour with more henchmen and kidnapped every female elf in the wedding party, applying a glove to her own head for good measure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, the arl and his men dumped them in a back room, allowing them to gather their wits for a moment and attempt to plan a resistance. When Kallian came to, nursing a sore spot on her head, she found most of the others kneeling beside her while Nela, always a too-religious girl, rocked herself and prayed in the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank the Maker you’ve come to,” Shianni fretted. “We were so worried…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everyone alright?” Kallian asked, glancing over the group. They all appeared to be, but she couldn’t tell for certain. Soris’ betrothed confirmed they had been unhurt, and that they had a moment, at least, to prepare themselves, though not in so many words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian nodded. “Then we kill the first human to open that door,” she declared. “Any luck, and he’ll have a weapon I can use, then we can cut our way out. If we’re quick and quiet, you should all be able to escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others were less sure of her plan; Nela increased the pace and volume of her frantic prayer. The guards came along moments later and cut down the praying girl the moment she opened her mouth in protest. Shianni and the others were cowed and led away, but as Kallian waited for her “escorts,” she flicked her eyes over them, assessing their arms, their armor, their stances—and then Soris called out from behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the guards turned to face her cousin, he slid a sword across the floor. Kallian dropped to her knee, swiped it up, and in a moment both humans lay dead on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I can’t believe they killed her!” Soris mourned, looking at Nela’s bleeding body. “Are you alright? They… they didn’t hurt you, did they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No time to talk,” Kallian shook her head, waving the sword to get a better feel for it. “The others need us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Grey Warden, Duncan, gave me and Nelaros a sword and crossbow,” Soris explained as they headed for the door, “but that’s all we have.” So Hahren Valendrian’s friend was a friend indeed, Kallian thought, regretting her suspicion when he’d arrived earlier in the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t Duncan come?” she asked. If he were willing to give arms to elves, why would he not lend them his skill as well? Unless whatever business he had with Valendrian were so urgent that more lives demanded he be elsewhere—or perhaps there were simply some things he would do for a lowly elf and others he would not, like crossing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shem</span>
  </em>
  <span> authorities in person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soris confirmed her guess: “Something about the Grey Wardens being neutral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky for us,” Kallian snorted, “we have nothing to lose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were almost accosted by a human cook, but the elf working beside him drove a dagger through the back of his neck, pointed them toward Shianni and the others, and ran. Three more humans in the next room rose from their table to confront them; Kallian threw a kitchen knife through the throat of the first, and she and Soris easily dispatched the other two one-on-one. Raiding an armory along the corridor allowed her to steal a simple leather cuirass and bracers, but they reached the next room just in time to see Nelaros cornered and cut down by three more guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He died to save me,” Kallian realized as Soris knelt over her betrothed’s body. He had been handsome and decent, sure, but he had mostly been the man she was being led into union with despite her own wishes. Now, looking down at his corpse, she felt an irrational pang for what might have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t have time to reflect or mourn or pity the loss of an unwanted future, however: Shianni and the others were still with Vaughan’s men, and all of them were in a castle full of angry, armed shems. Kallian took Nelaros’ wedding band and what small valuables she could strip quickly from the dead guards, and they moved on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally found the arl’s son and his men, Shianni was lying on the floor between all three of them, clearly dazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quiet, you idiot!” the arl’s son barked at one of his lackeys. “They’re covered with enough blood to fill a tub, what do you think that means?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means your guards are dead,” Kallian answered for him, stepping into the room with a deliberate sway of her hips. If Kendalls thought she was hot stuff, he would find that he’d bitten into a fucking Antivan pepper when he crossed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Vaughan backed up quickly, “let’s not be too hasty here. Surely we can talk this over…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think you can talk your way out of this?” Kallian raised a disbelieving eyebrow, keeping her blade leveled at him and an eye on each of his men. Shianni sobbed on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how this ends,” Kendalls warned her. “Or we could talk this through… now that you have my undivided attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian cursed under her breath. The arl’s son was right; no matter his offense, the elves would pay for exacting retribution. His word could hardly be counted on, but she couldn’t take the risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you have something to say, say it,” she bit out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vaughan’s offer was simple: money and exile, or the promised death of every elf in the alienage at his father’s vengeful hands. Almost an offer she couldn’t refuse. The other kidnapped women, however, he refused to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the deal,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “Take it or leave it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The damn fool, Kallian snarled in her mind. To Vaughan, she said, “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She danced around his guards while Soris distracted them. The arl’s son was an agile fighter, but too soft to really threaten her, and soon the nobles lay dead on the ground around a still-shaking Shianni. Soris went to find the others, including his betrothed, while Kallian helped Shianni up with a steady hand and murmured, calming words that gave no hint of her own terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You killed them, didn’t you?” Shianni asked, in a whisper like a lonely autumn leaf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like dogs, Shianni,” Kallian assured her. “Like dogs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve returned,” Valendrian greeted them as soon as they passed the gates; Duncan stood near him, along with an armored human woman and a half-elf in odd robes—a mage, likely; the Grey Wardens would allow him to move freely, though not freely enough to aid her. The elder quickly noticed Nela’s absence, however, and Soris relayed the sad news of her and Nelaros’ deaths. Valendrian sent the others to take Shianni home before turning to Kallian again. “Now tell me: what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The arl’s son is dead,” she reported, simply. No other facts were necessary; the consequences could be drawn from there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then the garrison could already be on their way,” Duncan observed. “You have little time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what we should do,” Kallian admitted. She couldn’t let the alienage pay for her deeds, but how could she keep them all safe? Would Duncan help, or stand aside?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guards arrived before they could plan, and as Kallian had expected, cared only for the so-called crimes against the arl’s son and his men. It was as unjust as anything else the elves of Denerim saw every damned day, but Kallian saw her chance to make sure no one else had to suffer worse than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was my doing,” she declared, stepping toward the guard. With a little luck, she could break away and flee before they hanged or beheaded her; at worst, she hoped, no one else would die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saved many by coming forward,” the captain nodded, as if he were the helpless administrator of some higher justice, and not a spineless shemlen murderer. “I don’t envy your fate, but I applaud your courage. This elf will wait in the dungeons until Arl Urien’s return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dungeons were alright, Kallian thought: having just been in the arl’s estate, she knew it was no Fort Drakon, and old stone and loose wood and rusting metal made for a variety of tools for the creative—but the desperate plotting of the back of her mind cut off when Duncan, too, stepped forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hereby invoke the Grey Wardens’ Right of Conscription,” he announced. “I remove this woman into my custody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The custody of a Grey Warden? What could they mean to do with her—conscription, that meant making her one of them! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do that?” she asked, stunned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damned right he can,” the robed half-elf stepped forward, wearing a cocky grin. “Grey Wardens fight the Blight by any means necessary, and that means taking the recruits they need—no matter who they are or what they’ve done. That’s how I got out of the Circle, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maker</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the look on the Knight-Commander’s face was priceless. Uh, not that we’re supposed to, well, make a big deal about it or anything,” he trailed off and stepped back under Duncan’s unimpressed stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son of a tied down—” the captain was no happier than the half-elf’s “Knight-Commander” had been, but acceded to Duncan’s apparent right, only asking that Kallian be out of the city by nightfall. The Grey Warden agreed in a manner that made Kallian suspect he had planned to leave quickly regardless, and confirmed they were in a hurry as soon as the guards were gone. She only had a few minutes to say her goodbyes, so she turned first to her cousin, still waiting nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Soris embraced her. “You really saved my hide back there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did what was right,” she smiled sadly at him. “Stay safe, cousin. I’ll be back if I ever can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you always do,” Soris returned her smile and suggested he would follow her example; Valora, he said, had plans for making life better, and he intended to help. Kallian promised to see Shianni, and they embraced once more before she made quick tracks for her house, where Shianni was laid up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valora was waiting inside, and thanked her profusely; Shianni had recovered, but suffered worse than the others knew. Still, Kallian had always known her to be strong, and she was certain her cousin would regain herself, and the admiration of the alienage, soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, cousin,” Shianni said as they embraced. “Make us proud out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too, Shianni,” Kallian answered, struggling to hold herself together. She would make them proud, though, and to do that she first had to walk out of her home with her head held high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saying goodbye to her father, last of all, was the hardest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If… this is what the Maker has planned for you,” Cyrion murmured, “then I guess it’s for the best. Your mother would have been pleased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Kallian whispered into his chest, holding her arms tight around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take care, my girl. Be safe. And wise. And, well… you know. We’ll all miss you.” He kissed the top of her head, and she buried her face against him, etching the moment in her memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted at last, and it was time to leave her home for real. Quick paces carried her past the Venadahl to the alienage gates where Valendrian and the Warden waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back straight, eyes ahead, Kallian rejoined Duncan and his followers, and together they left the alienage and the city of Denerim behind.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Roads to Ostagar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>The escape from Castle Cousland had left the three survivors of the attack weary, dejected, and short on money and supplies. They had a little food, bread and cheese and dried meat the wounded teyrn had gathered while he awaited their arrival, along with Julian’s small pouch of herbs and Duncan’s modest coin purse.</p><p>Of course, the coin could avail them little until they were past the reach of Amaranthine, as they headed south into the bannorn before taking tax roads from village to village toward Denerim. They stopped only once, when Duncan told the tavern-keeper who sold them extra supplies that they were making for Ostagar; as soon as they were beyond sight of the village, they turned east for the capital.</p><p>Despite himself, their circumstances, and his lingering guilt over Teyrn Bryce’s death, Julian could not entirely suppress his continued exuberance at being free to travel through the world.</p><p>“I’m all for not giving that demonspawn anything but the false hope of a fair fight,” he said as he picked his way over a brook that crossed the more than usually out-of-the-way trail they were following, “but I do hope we get to face him outside. I feel like everything important should be done in the sunlight. Or at least under the stars.”</p><p>“Everything important?” Elissa asked, throwing out a hand as the mage slipped on an unsteady rock just before the shore. “Personally, I was hoping to find him cornered in a dirty cellar and let his corpse never see the light of day.” Julian caught himself on her arm and his staff, and dried his boots with a wave of magic before responding.</p><p>“Fair enough,” Julian conceded, “and it’s your revenge. For myself, I’ve had enough of windowless rooms to last a lifetime, except for libraries and bedrooms: books need to be kept dry, after all, and there’s nothing like at least one solid wall and a real bed.”</p><p>Elissa raised a skeptical brow. “Just one wall?”</p><p>“I’m a mage,” Julian shrugged. “It’s not as if the Templars wanted us going at it. We had to be creative. The bed’s even only necessary for the important times.”</p><p>“Well, you certainly are creative,” Elissa shook her head, smiling faintly. “I was wondering, though—you said something before about Gwydion at the Hafter. Have you read the full <em> Sceala</em>, then?”</p><p>“At one time or another,” Julian nodded ambivalently. “I always liked the story of Cuscraid and Gwydion, at least in the original version. The only copies in the actual Circle library were filled with ridiculous Chantry emendations that made them out to be mortal enemies—shocking all around, I know.”</p><p>Elissa laughed, a bright sound utterly at odds with how bitterly focused she had been since the night of the day they had met. “I always liked their stories as well,” she said, “although I imagine we identified with different characters.”</p><p>“Well, it’s a complementary set of comparisons, in any case,” the mage grinned. “But I have to admit, I expected you to be more interested in Dane.”</p><p>“Because of him?” Elissa guessed, gesturing to her eponymous mabari. “A little, true. In actual fact, though, he’s named for Teyrn Loghain: ‘The Hero of River Dane.’ Mother was a little put out I didn’t name him Seawolf, but I <em> was </em>sixteen at the time. Not to mention that, by the time I came along, she had largely put all that behind her, no matter how relentlessly I showed myself a warrior, rather than a lady of the court.”  </p><p>“You certainly showed yourself an equal to Cuscraid before,” Julian smiled, though his face fell swiftly as he added, “I… I am sorry, again, my lady. I never took quite the interest I should have in healing, and they paid the price.”</p><p>Elissa fell silent for a minute, her eyes on the path before her. “It… is not your fault,” she said at length, “or mine. I—Part of myself feels like I was wrong to seduce you, as if the fact that I enjoyed myself that evening played a part in what came later. And I… It pains me to think of them, of Mother <em> leaving </em> me, in a sense, but…”</p><p>"<em>Na via lerno victoria,”</em> Julian said softly. “Your parents loved you, and they loved one another, and that will always be with you.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Elissa nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and setting her shoulders again. “I made them a promise. I promised them. <em> Fuck</em>,” she sagged, shaking her head. “I need—time. Vengeance. Something else to think about. What was it like leaving the Circle?”</p><p>Julian smiled wryly. “Aside from learning the friend I’d risked everything for—completely against my character, by the way—really was a lying blood mage? It was a fucking dream come true. I can’t even say I’m worried about Jowan: he was terrified and insecure, and even more afraid of hurting anyone who wasn’t about to hurt his girlfriend. I’ll miss him, sure, and Solona and Anders and the rest, but I didn’t really have many close friends, and who knows, maybe I’ll even be able to go back and some of them someday.”</p><p>“And you have no regrets?” the warrior pressed, “You wouldn’t go back, even if you could?”</p><p>The mage shrugged. “Oh, well. I’ve got plenty of fears and anxieties, but—for leaving the Circle? No, no regrets. I’m simply going forward in all my beliefs, and hopefully proving Greagoir dead wrong in his own.” He laughed, half-inwardly, and added, “It’s certainly an adjustment: walking every day, cooking our own food… honestly, your hound is what I’ve having the most trouble adjusting to.”</p><p>“Dane?” Elissa laughed, stroking behind the mabari’s ears. “Dane’s sweet. A rascal, sometimes, but he means well, don’t you, boy?”</p><p>Dane barked in agreement as Julian coughed awkwardly.</p><p>“Yes, well,” the mage shrugged, “he’s clearly better behaved than a giant spider, but those were about the only large animals I encountered before Duncan recruited me. There was a rather impressive fish, too, the last time we were let outside, but that was… oh, four years ago now?”</p><p>“I… suppose I understand your love of sunlight,” Elissa marveled sadly. “I had no idea the Circle was so…”</p><p>“Miserable?” Julian supplied, waving dismissively. “Ah, don’t worry. It just means leaving the place is no great loss. There are friends I’ll miss, of course—but I’ve already met you, and I’m sure there will be others. And no matter what comes, we’ll be able to face it in the open air.”</p><p>“An inspiring way of seeing things,” Elissa nodded in approval. “And in the light of day or not, I suppose I can count on you to hold down Rendon Howe while I see about relieving him of his head.”</p><p>“Whatever you command, my lady,” Julian promised, his expression sharpened with unusual gravitas. “For you and the lovely arl, I am entirely at your disposal.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>After Denerim, the feeling of the group had changed again. Elissa, of course, remained focused on their ultimate arrival at Ostagar, with the promise of royal justice to come to Howe, and the somber duty of telling Fergus what had befallen them. Julian remained somber over his failure to treat the teyrn, but simultaneously joyful at his freedom and dedicated to better supporting his companions. Even Duncan maintained the same pace, the same silent push along their journey.</p><p>But, of course, Kallian Tabris herself was entirely new, at least from the perspective of her fellow Warden-recruits. Though initially curt to Elissa, she had been openly curious about Julian’s life, and the mage—who reciprocated her interest wholeheartedly after her conscription at the alienage gates—was happy to begin drawing them together.</p><p>“So, you really killed an arl?” Julian asked as they made camp, arranging the gathered wood by hand; it was neither the most tactful phrasing nor the most efficient way to prepare the fire, but he enjoyed the effort of the physical work as much as he did exercising his magic, and he had no wish to dance around a subject that, given Elissa’s description of Urien Kendalls, he saw no reason to treat as shameful.</p><p>“An arl’s son. And his men. Like dogs,” Kallian replied simply. “They had already killed one of us, and they planned to rape the rest. They—” she tripped on the sentence. “I didn’t get to my cousin on time.”</p><p>“<em>Fenedhis. </em>I’m sorry,” Julian bowed his head, abruptly sober. “I’ve… Well, I’ve heard stories about the Templars. Solona and I—she was my best friend in the Circle—we were the apprentices of very senior enchanters, and she got enough attention from the decent ones that nobody else would try anything, so long as we kept our heads down. Even so…” he shook his head, standing up and back, and thrust a hand at the assembled wood, which burst into flame.</p><p>“Good riddance to men like that,” he concluded, still staring into the fire. “Elissa would agree with me, by the way. It’s not my story to tell, really, although I was there, too—I’ll just say that entitled bastards who think it’s their right to walk all over anyone they want to… we all know men like that, and it would be my privilege to aid you just as I have sworn my aid to her.”</p><p>“Well, like you said, mine’s dead,” Kallian pointed out, crossing her arms, “so I’m not sure there’s much else to do. Fight the March on the Dales in reverse?”</p><p>“Hey,” Julian said lightly, spreading his hands, “If you blade and bow types can keep the Templars off us mages, I guarantee there wouldn’t be enough left of those pastry-hogging highborn thugs to call them an exalted anything.”</p><p>Kallian laughed bitterly and leaned against him, her fingers finding their way around his, and Julian relaxed as she rested her head just below his chin, rising and falling with his chest as his breath slowly evened. </p><p>“It’s a nice fantasy, at any rate,” she said, and sighed. “I miss them already. Da, and Shianni, and Soris… Hahren Valendrian, too, and…” she trailed off.</p><p>“I was never going to be the end of it,” she added, facing the fire. “The shems started it and they’ll never let us have the last word, whatever happens. I can only hope that Duncan conscripting me didn’t set off some sort of riots, after I ‘got away.’ But we did what we had to and the only way to get through it is forward.”</p><p>“Forward, and with copious amounts of fire,” Julian agreed with feeling. “I’m going to need to vastly improve my endurance if I’m going to be worth anything, whether it’s nobles we’re fighting or a fucking Blight. Even more so if it’s going to be both.”</p><p>“Well, I’m always up for endurance work,” Kallian said before she could stop herself, hoping that the firelight would disguise her expression.</p><p>Julian laughed. “You should flirt by accident more often,” he joked, the weight of the moment temporarily forgotten. “Cute and deadly works well for you.”</p><p>Kallian folded her arms and gave him her best unimpressed look. “You’re lucky you’re handsome, mage,” she scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be deadly too, not incorrigible.”</p><p>“Who says I can’t be both?” Julian replied. “It’s how you keep yourself sane in the Circle.”</p><p>They stood in front of the campfire a moment longer, before Julian turned and beckoned to Kallian to follow him.</p><p>“Come on,” he said, “I should practice setting wards for the camp.”</p><p>“You need to practice that?” Kallian asked, trailing after him.</p><p>“Of course,” Julian raised an eyebrow at her. “The ability to perform magic may be inborn, but the ability to control it, much less achieve specific effects, is won only through study and practice. My personal talents always lay primarily with primal magic, the manipulation of elemental forces. I’ve studied other techniques, of course—healing and the like,” he added somberly, “though my skills in that arena have proven lacking—and I know enough about warding to attempt this, but it’s not quite my forte. A bit like if you tried to pick up a sword and shield, I suppose; you can handle a blade, but the properties are different, and you have to hold yourself differently to make use of your off hand.”</p><p>They broke off as they came to the perimeter of the camp, and Julian took his staff in both hands and closed his eyes. Kallian stood back a few steps as the half-elven mage hummed quietly, and then gasped as she felt the cool sting of magic wash over her, like being doused with a cool, dry liquid sense of safety.</p><p>“You felt that?” Julian was frowning. “Shouldn’t be so obvious. Decent, though, considering how long I’ve been at this; we’ll be safe enough tonight, if not necessarily unnoticed.” </p><p>“Safe is good,” Kallian cracked a smile. “You take care of that, and I can help with the unnoticed part.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As the party neared the edge of the true Brecilian Forest, Kallian decided to take the mage’s advice and approach Elissa. The warrior may have been human, and a noble herself judging by her high-quality armor and gear, but the worst Kallian could say of her own treatment by the woman was that Elissa had kept largely to herself—and reasonably so, from what Julian had said.</p><p>“So,” she began, having fallen back alongside the warrior, “I’ve been given to understand you might appreciate some tips on murdering lesser nobility.”</p><p>Elissa sputtered briefly, and her hound ran ahead as if to give them space to talk, before she replied, with a touch of sarcasm, “I think I can handle the part about putting my sword through his neck.” There was an awkward pause, and she added, “But… thanks for the offer. Are you certain you’re ready to move up from first sons to sitting arls?”</p><p>Kallian scoffed, “I’d have slit the throat of the king himself if he’d been the one to kidnap my friends and hold my cousin hostage against the safety of every other elf in the city. Honestly, I’d still like to, a bit; it’s not like he’s done anything to keep the rest of the shems in check.”</p><p>Elissa frowned at that; her family had been loyal to the Theirin kings for generations, and it felt wrong to condemn him in such unsparing terms… but neither could she deny that he had failed to ensure justice for the elves of his very capital.</p><p>“It’s strange, really,” she mused, “My father never particularly respected Arl Urien, he thought he was… well, the type of person who would raise a son like Vaughan—who was miserable enough when I met him. Yet Maric, the way my father spoke of him, would never have allowed such things to happen… except, it seems, they have.”</p><p>“Maybe Maric was better,” Kallian shrugged. “It’s not just the highborn keeping us penned in, at least in Ferelden. I hear in Orlais, every so often, the nobles will raze an entire alienage just for their political games. The way Da tells it, things at home weren’t so bad until… maybe five years ago?”</p><p>“That was around the time of King Cailan’s marriage and coronation,” Elissa confirmed. “I suppose Arl Urien, being of Maric’s generation, may have felt he could induce Cailan to give him more leeway, perhaps even that it would be overstepping his authority for Cailan to intervene. I don’t know,” she made a contrite face, adding, “I never paid quite as much attention in my political lessons as I did to history… or which banns’ and arls’ sons and daughters were attractive, decent, and up for a good time.”</p><p>“Really?” Kallian laughed and kicked a stone aside. “Wouldn’t have figured you for the type. Aren’t, y’know, relations among nobles all political and whatnot?”</p><p>It was Elissa’s turn to laugh, as she shook her head and replied, “Only <em> official </em> relations. Use the right potions and it’s nobody’s business who you sneak off with. And as the second child of a teyrn, marrying anyone would have meant marrying down—unless Fergus had died, which…” she trailed off, suddenly somber, with a shuddering breath.</p><p>“Did Julian tell you what happened, the night he and Duncan came to Highever?”</p><p>“Not in detail,” Kallian answered, “just that you’d understand about men like Vaughan needing to be killed, and he offered to help me ‘same as he promised you,’ or something like that, so… whatever it was, I’m guessing the answer’s not ‘great sex and revelry’.”</p><p>“Well, there was that,” Elissa sighed under her breath, “but slaughter under trust ruins everything. Rendon Howe had been a friend of my parents since the war against Orlais, a hero, and he delayed his men until our troops went south with Fergus and had his forces attack our castle and kill everyone inside. Guards, servants, guests, everyone. Father was… wounded, severely, looking for me and Mother, and after fighting through all of Howe’s men with us Julian didn’t have enough magic left to heal him.</p><p>“Mother refused to leave his side. Fergus is… we’re all the family either of us have left,” she said, staring into the woods. “Maker. He had a wife and son, my nephew, and now we’re all either of us has left. We’re the end.”</p><p>“Well, you’re not over yet,” Kallian responded with sudden intensity, tugging her arm. Elissa startled and began following the elf as they pushed to regain ground on the others, and Kallian added, “You do sound like you could use a month or two to get yourself back together, though. Explains some of Julian’s intensity, too, but…”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Elissa insisted, her voice rough. “Eventually. Might have to kill Howe first, but getting to Ostagar will help. Make sure the king knows what happened, that whatever story Howe’s put about is a treasonous lie. After that I’ll be able to handle things better, and once Howe is <em> really </em> in the ground, I’ll be able to start moving on.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>About a week from Denerim, they had come across a Dalish camp—or, rather, a Dalish hunter, lying barely conscious outside a cave, near death despite lacking any obvious wounds. Julian cast a barrier over the cave entrance, warning that it wouldn’t last particularly long, and Duncan had led them and carried the hunter to her people.</p><p>The Dalish had been less than pleased at the presence of so many outsiders, but the Grey Wardens were known to the free elves and Duncan himself to their Keeper, a white-haired woman called Marethari. She was a mage of striking ability—all keepers were, she explained succinctly, being the foremost guardians of all that the Dalish had recovered of their ancient culture—and sufficiently accomplished as a healer to guide the hunter back to health, at least temporarily, despite her infection with what Duncan warned was likely the darkspawn taint.</p><p>So it was that, two nights later, the three Warden-recruits sat around their fire, just out of sight from the Dalish aravels, while Duncan held conference with the Keeper. Elissa sat farther back, sword and oilcloth in hand, though the enchanted family blade didn’t really need the ordinary maintenance; Dane lounged by her side, and Julian and Kallian knelt closer to the fire, as the elf supervised the mage’s efforts at cooking.</p><p>“I will admit,” Julian said as he moved aside, allowing Kallian to examine the stew, “that I never expected how much I would miss the Circle’s kitchen. Not that haddock and apple should ever be part of the same dish, but Maker, I could do with a pie again someday.”</p><p>“Haddock and apple?” Elissa asked, morbidly curious, as she slid her sword back into its sheath and moved toward the others. Julian shrugged.</p><p>“It was a few years ago,” he explained. “New cook, apparently old-fashioned ideas. Mages and templars get the same meals, at least, so Greagoir made sure he was fired quick enough, though I heard he had some made special for Anders the next time he got brought back in.”</p><p>He paused thoughtfully and added, “Might’ve been my fault. I said something to Solona at the time about how lucky Anders was to be away, and I imagine if a Templar overheard that could’ve been passed on,” he shrugged again, “or maybe it was a punishment other than making him Tranquil. Greagoir was never the worst of the lot, even if he was every inch a Templar.”</p><p>“Well, enough about Templars,” Kallian said, retrieving a hard loaf and distributing it in thirds as Julian portioned out the stew. “You’re actually picking this up just fine. Soris got fired the last time he tried to work for a cook because he would just boil everything down to a bland grey lump, and Shianni almost started a <em> fire </em> once.”</p><p>Having seen the cramped, wooden structures of the alienage in Denerim, both Julian and Elissa could imagine the consequences of a fire that was not tightly controlled. All else paused while they ate: Julian, though not as exhausted as he had been the previous day, had still spent several hours channeling magic to support Marethari, while Kallian and Elissa had been enlisted by Duncan in examining the area where they had found the hunter.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking,” Elissa said eventually, “It won’t be long now before we get to Ostagar. We’ll tell King Cailan what happened, and if Duncan is right about his regard for the Wardens it might even be to our advantage if Howe is there already—though I doubt he’d be so bold, or willing to risk himself against the darkspawn.”</p><p>“Howe is certainly adept at avoiding risk,” Julian snorted. “I’m surprised we haven’t had to fight off assassins or Templars or what have you, sent to stop us from reaching Ostagar at all. Makes me wonder who was backing his play, though: a man of his station doesn’t pull a backstab like that without another ally at hand, ready to swear the victim was a blood mage all along.”</p><p>“Circle politics are as vicious as the courts of kings, I gather?” Elissa asked with a raised brow and a wry smile.</p><p>“Well, it’s not like there’s anything else to do,” Julian shrugged. “Not that accusing another mage of blood magic is something you actually <em> do, </em> but then neither is storming your best friend’s castle and killing everyone in sight: point is, if there isn’t a conspiracy at work here beyond Howe’s sudden bloodlust, I’ll eat my staff.”</p><p>“Ugh. You’re probably right,” the warrior sighed, drawing the last of her bread through her cup and tossing it to Dane, “Although, in hindsight, I understand why he threw a fit when you and Duncan showed up unannounced; he may not have a real contingency in place—could be he’s down to selling out his allies.</p><p>“Either way,” she sat back, tossing the bowl to Julian, who caught it with a spell and set it aside, “he hasn’t shown up here for me to kill him, and since we’re most of the way to Ostagar now, I would like to have one nice night while we have the opportunity.”</p><p>“No walls,” Julian noted, catching her gaze, “but that should be fine. Kallian?”</p><p>“It is a pretty nice night,” the elf agreed, tilted her head and adding, “if you ignore the mysterious tainted cave a couple miles away, at least.”</p><p>“Are you going to keep saying ridiculous things,” Elissa replied, “or should I find something better for you to do with your tongue?”</p><p>“I—you—Julian, help,” Kallian stammered, blushing. The mage glanced between the women, raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Elissa, before turning Kallian to face him and kissing her.</p><p>They broke apart several seconds later, the city elf wide-eyed and breathless.</p><p>“Did that help?” Julian asked with a grin.</p><p>For a moment, Kallian simply nodded, slightly dazed. “Uh, yeah,” she said eventually, “Yeah, that… was nice. Uh, what about…” she gestured to Elissa.</p><p>“Trust me,” the noblewoman smiled, standing just long enough to circle the fire before descending on the city elf’s opposite side, “if there’s anyone who can keep up with a Circle mage, it’s a highborn spare.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And a fade to black because that felt like a proper stopping place. These recruits are like... er, nugs, or something. <br/>(That said, I do hope the established DA2-canon nature of Kinloch Hold and Elissa's second-born adventurousness makes how fast they move at least mostly believable.)</p><p>"Na via lerna victoria" — A Tevene phrase, "only the living know victory," in this case meaning that Elissa's survival makes possible her family's victory over Howe.</p><p>"Scéal" is Irish for "matter" in the sense of "story, rumor, affair." Gwydion is a wizard from the Welsh Mabinogion and associated poems, while Cuscraid is a son of Conchobar in the Ulster Cycle. The canonical river Hafter, named for the first Fereldan teyrn, would not have been called such in Gwydion and Cuscraid's age (if they ever existed), but emendation does happen over time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Ruins Beyond Reach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lyna Mahariel woke in the Keeper’s aravel, feeling like she had been trampled by a herd of bronto. Slowly, rubbing her forehead, she made her way outside: it was late morning, meaning she had been unconscious for over half a day. Fenarel was waiting for her.</p><p>“You’ve the gods’ own luck, lethallan,” he smiled wearily. “You’re back at camp. Everyone is worried sick about you. How do you feel?”</p><p>“Worried,” she replied, still feeling under the weather as well, and plagued by her last memory of her partner, senselessly fascinated by the ancient mirror. “Where is Tamlen?”</p><p>“We don’t know,” Fenarel shook his head. “The shem who brought you here saw no sign of him.”<br/>
“There was a shem?” Lyna asked sharply. If those villagers had done something—but then, this one had, apparently, returned her to the Dalish… and been trusted to do so.</p><p>“A shem brought you back two days ago,” Fenarel replied, cautiously. “You… don’t remember him?”</p><p>Two days? That was worse than she’d thought, and she said so. Fenarel frowned. “He was a Grey Warden. He appeared out of nowhere, with you slung over his shoulder, unconscious. He said he found you in the forest and left you here, then ran off again. The Keeper’s been using the old magic to heal you.”</p><p>And a hard task that must have been, Lyna reflected, if she still felt so unwell. The shem being a Grey Warden explained why he’d been trusted, at least, but she still needed to know if Tamlen had been found—though, remembering his last, frantic cry, she felt a deep, chilling fear of the answer.</p><p>Fenarel assured her that Tamlen was being searched for, although no sign of him had been found, then went to alert the Keeper that Lyna was awake. Marethari approached her minutes later, exhaustion written plainly on her features as she welcomed Lyna back to the land of the living.</p><p>Then she added, solemnly, “It was difficult even for my magic to keep you alive.”</p><p>“Then Tamlen could be sick, as well?” Lyna worried. Of course he was—he had touched the mirror directly—the question was at best whether he could have survived on his own, and more likely where he had made his way to before he collapsed and eventually died.</p><p>“If he encountered the same thing you did, yes. Duncan said he found you outside a cave, already stricken. He thought there may have been darkspawn creatures inside the cave. Is that true?”</p><p>“I’ve never seen darkspawn, but I don’t think so,” Lyna shook her head. “There were giant spiders and walking corpses, but nothing I haven’t heard of from Hahren Paivel or the older hunters. But there was a strange mirror in the last room. Tamlen touched it, and then… I’m not sure.”</p><p>“A mirror? And it caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected. And Tamlen remains missing: he is more important than all the lore we have collected. Duncan had returned to the cave, but we cannot rely on him to search for Tamlen as well. Are you well enough to show us the way, da’len? Without you we will not find it.”</p><p>“I am up to it, Keeper,” Lyna nodded, though in truth she still felt queasy, and not only from worry for her friend. “I feel fine.”</p><p>“I am relieved to hear it,” Marethari nodded. “I am ordering the clan to pack the camp so we can go north. Take Merrill with you to the cave; find Tamlen if you can, but do it swiftly.”</p><p>“The clan is leaving?” Lyna asked. Had the shems caused trouble after all?</p><p>They had, according to Marethari, and Lyna cursed her softness, but Duncan had brought his own news: whether darkspawn had been in the cave or not, they would soon be a threat to the region, and the clan would move north to avoid them. That, Lyna thought with self-conscious lack of charity, would at least ake care of the village. She nodded and accepted her task.</p><p>“Go quickly,” Marethari ordered, “for Tamlen’s life hangs in the balance.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She found the shy but capable First waiting by the last aravel, at the far end of the camp. The walk to find Merrill had let Lyna pick up what few things she felt she needed for a second descent into the cave, and soon they were treading the same gully path she had followed with Tamlen days before. Dwarflike, sickly creatures, rotting and foul (like that bear, she remembered now), blocked the path this time, rather than wolves, but between Merrill’s magic and Lyna’s agility and aim, they were not too great a danger, and soon they reached the hidden cavern.</p><p>“So these are the ruins?” Merrill mused as they entered the deserted chambers. “They are definitely of human origin… But we must find Tamlen—or what’s left of him. I can’t imagine he’s still alive with those creatures around. Still, even if he’s here somewhere, we need to find his body. Let’s just pray we’re wrong.”</p><p>Rather than Tamlen, however, they found another shem and a flat-ear battling more darkspawn in the large chamber with the ruined floor. Both were fair-haired, and the shemlen used a sword and a large, painted shield, while the elf darted between shadows and struck with such swift movements that her species only became certain once Lyna loosed an arrow into a stray monster, the shemlen decapitated its partner, and the battle came to an end.</p><p>“Dalish,” the shemlen said, either in observation or greeting, as she drew a cloth to wipe her sword before sheathing it. “We didn’t expect to see you back here—oh, looking for your friend, I suppose?” She shook her head and continued, “Nothing but darkspawn and Warden-Recruits down here, and Duncan, of course. I’m Elissa, that’s Kallian. Duncan and Julian are in the back, if you’d like to look at the mirror again.”</p><p>Lyna nodded tensely, and the flat-ear—Kallian, she introduced herself again—escorted them back past piles of darkspawn corpses to the faded elven statue and the room with the mirror. Inside, examining the fatal monument, were a tall, bearded, northern-looking shemlen she recognized vaguely, and a slightly shorter, fair-haired… person with a mix of elvish and shemlen features, wearing long and somewhat tattered robes. Kallian called out and they turned to the trio of elves.</p><p>“You’re the elf I found wandering the forest, aren’t you?” The bearded shem—Duncan, Lyna assumed—asked, adding, “I’m surprised you have recovered. My name is Duncan, and this is Julian Surana, a mage of the Ferelden Circle.”</p><p>“<em>Andaran ati’shan,</em>” Merrill bowed in introduction, and Duncan turned to the center of the room.</p><p>“So, you and your friend Tamlen both entered this cave, and you saw this mirror?” he asked. </p><p>“Yes,” Lyna nodded. “Tamlen… touched the mirror, and I blacked out.”</p><p>“I see,” Duncan sighed. “That’s… unfortunate. The Grey Wardens have found artifacts like this before. They are Tevinter in origin, used for communication. Over time, some of them simply break, and become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn.” The flat-eared mage made a face at Duncan’s pronouncement, but said nothing, as the Warden continued, “It’s what made you sick—and Tamlen, too, I presume.”</p><p>Lyna’s heart clenched. This <em> Tevinter </em> artifact, visibly stolen, like so much else, from her people, could not be allowed to remain and spread its sickness, no matter what the clan might hope to learn.</p><p>“I agree,” Duncan nodded. “So long as this mirror exists, it is a threat to anyone nearby.”</p><p>Merrill objected, bold and curious as ever, but the Grey Warden shook his head. “There is no cure for the darkspawn taint. The keeper suppressed your illness, but she could not cleanse it. Look inside yourself, and you will see.”</p><p>Lyna felt herself pale further as his warning sank in. She had felt unwell on waking, and now that the exhilaration of hurry and battle was past, she felt herself wearying rapidly—far too rapidly, and the cold that leeched her strength was no ordinary disease.</p><p>“Then what should I do?”</p><p>“First, we deal with the mirror. It is a pestilence and a threat.” Duncan drew his sword and smashed the glass, which exploded with a flash and an angry roar, and Lyna wished again that Tamlen had only heeded her and gone to tell the Keeper first.</p><p>“Now,” Duncan turned back to her, “let’s leave this cursed place. I must speak to the Keeper immediately regarding your cure.”</p><p>“What about Tamlen?” </p><p>Duncan shook his head gravely, his stern tone dipping into heavy sorrow. “It has been three days since he was seen. There is nothing we can do for him; we must speak to the Keeper while <em> you </em> still have time.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I’m relieved you have returned,” Marethari smiled as they approached, “and I was not expecting to see you again so soon, Duncan.”</p><p>“I was not expecting to return so soon either, Keeper,” Duncan frowned, and Marethari turned to Lyna.</p><p>“If Tamlen was alive,” Lyna haltingly repeated what Duncan had told her in the Tevinter cave, “the darkspawn would have killed him.”</p><p>“There… there were darkspawn in the cave?" Marethari asked, tensing.</p><p>“There is much to discuss,” Duncan replied. “I have learned much since I was last here.”</p><p>Marethari nodded, and invited him to her aravel before sending Merrill to warn the hunters, and Lyna to tell Hahren Paivel so that the old storymaster could prepare a service for the dead. She made her way through the camp slowly, stopping to gaze on the halla and cast a concerned glance—and a furtive prayer of warding—at the outward-facing statue of Fen’Harel. </p><p>“So you return with the Grey Warden, but without Tamlen,” Paivel sighed when she found him, already tending a bonfire. “What happened, da’len? Is he truly lost to us?”</p><p>“Yes, Hahren,” Lyna bowed her head. “He is dead,” <em> or something worse</em>, she thought, but that fear seemed too ill-omened to speak aloud—and, in any case, Tamlen was forever gone. Marethari was powerful, but the exhaustion Lyna had begun to feel again in the cave had not abated: if she had nearly died, Tamlen must have breathed his last by now, though the absence of a body pained her sharply.</p><p>“So, another of our children has perished,” Hahren sighed, close to tears. “To think I would live to see this. It seems I am destined to perform the rites for those I once held in my arms. I think I know why our immortal ancestors would sleep.” </p><p>He assured Lyna that Tamlen would receive full rites, even without a body, before the clan moved, and she lingered at his request in turn to recite the story of the Fall of the Dales. The version they incanted for the assembled children was short and vague, but then it had been a chaotic time and it was among the more painful stories even in the litany of the Dalish. Others could recite the names of the fallen knights of the Emerald Graves, but the important lesson was that no shem promise could ever be trusted.</p><p>“His name was Shartan,” someone spoke up as she departed the bonfire hollow, and Lyna turned to see the flat-ear mage—Julian Surana, that was it—standing beside a tall stone. “The elf who fought with Andraste. Of course, that part got ripped out of the Chant when Orlais decided it wanted the Dales; it’s harder to justify a holy war against people who were at your side against the <em> true enemy</em>.” </p><p>Lyna raised her eyebrow at the emphasis on the last words, and he shrugged and explained, “The Chantry isn’t any better disposed toward mages than it is toward free elves. Tevinter was awful, but what then? Lock everyone up—and they knew that wasn’t fair, or there’d be no reason to stamp out alternatives like the Kingdom of the Dales. But,” his lips quirked upward, “I didn’t come here to rant. Just wanted to check on you again—Merrill and I helped the Keeper out while she was working on you—giving her a boost with our own energy, you know.”</p><p>“It didn’t stick, I guess,” Lyna replied, shorter than she intended. “That’s what Duncan said in the cave, right? He and Marethari are talking about that now.”</p><p>Julian nodded somberly. “I don’t know much about the darkspawn,” he said, “but my guess is that Duncan’s going to ask you to join us. Three is more than he was expecting, but four is better, especially with a Blight coming, and if there were anything that could be done that <em> isn’t </em>a Warden secret, we would have tried it already.” </p><p>“Do the Wardens have many secrets?” Lyna asked, to cover the icy fear that bloomed inside her. She couldn’t leave the clan. The clan was her life; to abandon them and go off with a band of shemlen and flat-ears… she couldn’t do that. It was impossible.</p><p>“A few,” Julian answered with a nod. “They have broad license to combat the Blight, and I’m sure they’ve developed practices that would make people uneasy—and it has been hundreds of years since the last Blight. But what isn’t secret is that the Wardens aren’t picky about who you used to be. You’re tough, you fight well, and you’d be the fourth out of four of us Duncan saved from some manner of death sentence.”</p><p>“Don’t mind him,” the blonde… city elf interrupted. “Duncan’s a decent sort, and your Keeper seems pretty impressive. They’ll figure this out—and <em> you</em>, mage,” she took Julian’s hand and twirled herself against him, “were going to show me the herbs you traded for, not chat up the maybe-new-girl.”</p><p>Julian protested the accusation but bowed farewell to Lyna and led Kallian off toward the craftsmen’s aravels, leaving Lyna to wait for Duncan and the Keeper. As it happened, she did not have to wait long at all before the Warden and the Keeper nearly materialized at her shoulder, their faces unsettlingly grave.</p><p>“Your Keeper and I have spoken,” Duncan began without preamble, “and we have come to an arrangement that concerns you. My order is in need of help. When we leave, I hope you will join us. You would make an excellent Grey Warden.”</p><p>“What does this have to do with my cure?” Lyna asked suspiciously, Hahren Paivel’s words echoing in her mind.</p><p>“Everything, I’m afraid,” Duncan replied. “The darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you recovered at all is remarkable… but eventually, it will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us.”</p><p>“It breaks my heart to send you away,” Marethari intoned regretfully, “as it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your salvation.”</p><p>Lyna’s stomach twisted. If the Grey Wardens were the only ones who could fight the darkspawn, the only ones capable of preventing more suffering like that she and Tamlen had uncovered, it would be a worthy life, but the thought of leaving her clan for another, an order not even of the Dalish but commanded by shemlen, however noble, was almost too much. But she trusted Marethari, and if the old Keeper had accepted that there was no other way, if staying meant dying slowly, a burden on the clan, then she had no choice.</p><p>“Then I will join you,” she agreed, and bowed her head.</p><p>“I welcome you to the order,” Duncan bowed. “It is rare to have a Dalish among us, but they have always served our order with distinction.”</p><p>Marethari spread her arms and embraced Lyna to bid her farewell, and handed her a wooden ring, carved with a halla chase—a Keeper’s ring once worn by her father, a talisman of protection, and of her heritage, to carry into the world beyond the clan.</p><p>“A valuable gift.” Duncan did not quite smile, but his expression was warm. “So, are you ready to go?”</p><p>So soon? Lyna nearly stumbled in place at the idea—but no, she realized, it would be necessary to leave quickly, both for the clan and for herself, to reach the Grey Wardens with hope of a cure. Still, she could not go before Tamlen’s funeral, and said so.</p><p>“We have much ground to cover, but I cannot deny you that,” Duncan assented with a nod. </p><p>“Come then, da’len,” Marethari urged her. “Before the Creators guide you from us, let us say goodbye one last time.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The other Warden recruits waited beyond the edge of the camp, at the exit to the camp beyond the funeral pyre. Lyna walked slowly past her friends and cousins, locking eyes with each as she passed and straining to commit every face to memory. At the end of the impromptu procession, she paused as Merrill stepped forward to embrace her, and Lyna returned the gesture with all her strength, pressing her face into the feathered collar of the First’s robes.</p><p>“Dareth shiral,” Merrill whispered as she held her. “We will never forget you, lethallan, or Tamlen. I’m sure we will hear of your great deeds someday, and perhaps you will even be the one to tell us about them.”</p><p>“May it come to pass,” Lyna whispered back. “Dareth shiral.”</p><p>She pulled reluctantly back from Merrill’s arms and strode past her, toward the Wardens, their duty, and their cure.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Roads to Ostagar, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Kallian Tabris was, understandably, the first of her now-fellow Warden-recruits to whom Lyna gravitated. Slightly taller than the Dalish elf despite her more impoverished upbringing, the fair-haired city elf greeted Lyna with a sincere and accepting curiosity and an open desire for friendship.</p><p>“We heard stories in the alienage, of course,” she told Lyna one evening as they watched Julian set the campfire and the wards. “Once or twice someone even ran off to try to find the Dalish and live with them, but most of us never thought it could really be true. Free elves, living on their own with no shems to give orders or beat them up or tear away what was left of our culture? It sounded like a fantasy.”</p><p>“Not a very accurate one,” Lyna sighed, “but I suppose I understand. Shems are everywhere in this world, except the far depths of the Tirashan and Brecilian forests, and the Dalish can’t afford to settle anywhere. We’d just make ourselves a target as soon as such a place became known.”</p><p>Kallian nodded, accepting the point. “And life on the move isn’t exactly the life of a shem lord, either. Less likely to burn down around you, but not exactly the fantasy we all imagined. I’ve never heard of the Tirashan, though, where is that?”</p><p>“The far side of Orlais,” Julian answered for her, returning from his task to sit beside them. “Supposed to be the largest untouched wilderness in Thedas. I didn’t think even the Dalish traveled there, although there are a few reports of elven scouts protecting the forest against human explorers.”</p><p>“Any elves there are news to the Dalish,” Lyna shook her head, “or at least any I’ve ever met—the Arlathvenn only happens every ten years, and it’s hardly possible to speak to everyone there. But we do know of it, though the Sabrae spent most of my life in Ferelden.”</p><p>She paused, then looked over at the mage with sudden intensity. “Speaking of things the Dalish don’t know, and you seemingly do, what was that face you made when Duncan said the mirror was Tevinter?”</p><p>“Ah, yes.” Julian nodded in recognition, taking a moment to order his reply. “I’m sure there are plenty of ancient artifacts the Wardens have unearthed over the ages, especially given the time they spend in the Deep Roads, but they aren’t scholars of magic or history. Now, there’s very little written on artifacts like that, but there was one book in the Circle library, and from what I remember and what I saw in the chamber… I believe that the mirror was actually elven, and used not just for communication but for travel.”</p><p>Silence reigned for several seconds as astonishment, disbelief, shock, and grief warred on Lyna’s face. </p><p>“So you’re saying,” she began at last, standing up as her voice shook, “you’re saying that we destroyed an ancient <em>elven</em> artifact that had the power to transport <em>people</em> across <em>Thedas</em>?”</p><p>“We destroyed what may <em>once</em> have been such an artifact,” Julian replied sadly. “I didn’t say anything in the chamber because what Duncan didn’t know about it wasn’t about to hurt anyone, and he was right that it had to be destroyed… or that your friend was beyond helping. The Tevinters did, as far as anyone can tell, use those mirrors to communicate—they pillaged a lot from the elves, and only half understood any of it—but he didn’t know the full story. I told Merrill, though, when she took a shard. Maybe she’ll be able to restore at least some of it—maybe even more than the Tevinters ever could.”</p><p>Lyna sighed again and dropped to the ground, simply curling her legs beneath her. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted, “I remember… something, almost. When Tamlen and I found it… it almost mesmerized him. And the way the forest felt when I went back with Merrill—ugh. The accursed darkspawn. Whatever that mirror was, they’d turned it into a thing of evil. And if there’s anyone who can determine the truth about it, unlock any lost secrets that could help the Dalish from that thing, it’s Merrill, so… I suppose it worked out, aside from… what happened to myself and Tamlen.”</p><p>“The other hunter, right,” Kallian nodded. “You were… close?”</p><p>“Not especially,” Lyna shrugged, “although he was handsome. We were really just two clanmates, though—which is close enough already, of course. To be clan is to be family, in many ways, regardless of relation by blood or preference. Everyone depends on every other member of the clan, and losing anyone, no matter how, is like losing a parent or child or sibling of your own.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence again after that, each thinking of their own losses: Tamlen, Nola and Nelaros, Jowan and all the ones who failed to escape as he had.</p><p>“Alright, enough of that,” Kallian broke the pause and sat up straighter. “Julian, you were saying something the other day about the difference between, what was it, creation and spirit magic?”</p><p>“Hm? Oh, yes,” Julian smiled as he remembered the conversation, “why summoning is considered creation magic despite involving the actual summoning of minor spirits. I actually mentioned it to Merrill while we were in the Dalish camp, and…”</p><p>Lyna shifted to a more comfortable position, observing the comfortable byplay as the mage launched into his explanations, his attention on Kallian but turning to her on occasion to ask how the Dalish viewed things, and absorbing her words with keen regard. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As the only experienced hunter among Duncan’s recruits, Lyna had somewhat expected to be tasked with a measure of responsibility for provisioning their band on the way to Ostagar. Fortunately, however, and especially so in light of her unsteady health, the Grey Warden had taken the time to provision extensively each time he stopped for more than a night, including trading with the Sabrae, leaving Lyna with little more to do than assist Duncan in preparing the food, and offering Julian instruction in yet another aspect of un-Circled life to which the mage was still, though eagerly, adjusting. </p><p>She did, however, still have one responsibility that was entirely her own: caring for her bow. Along with her hunting knives and lightweight leather armor, the bow was all she had of her life before the mirror, so she made certain to examine it carefully each time they stopped for camp and, before unstringing it for the night, she found a tree mostly obscured by its neighbors and slid an arrow or two through gaps in the brush that would have been invisible to shemlen eyes. </p><p>“Most impressive.” Lyna started, turning with her bow drawn to find the shemlen girl, Elissa, watching with an appreciative look on her face. Her hound—a mabari, she’d called it—was sitting at her feet, a bundle of wickedly intelligent muscle and claws that was probably heavier and stronger than Lyna herself. “It took me a minute to even see where the arrows were going. Nice work.”</p><p>“What are you doing?” She demanded, although she’d lowered her bow once she realized her intruder, or rather intruders, were at least nominally friendly. The focus and precision she put into the practice shots helped restrain some of the exhaustion from the day’s long hike, but she could still feel the lurking cold and only hoped they would reach Ostagar before whatever Keeper Marethari had done wore off.</p><p>“Watching you shoot,” Elissa replied, shoving off from the tree she’d been leaning against. “I hope Dane didn’t scare you, he’s a softie even if he won’t really listen to anyone else—that’s the price and privilege of a mabari, they’re very clever and incredibly loyal. And I meant what I said, as well. Some of those shots I’m still not sure how you made.”</p><p>“Superior vision and a decade of practice,” Lyna replied flatly, an edge creeping into her voice as she added, “I didn’t realize you took much interest in archery.” <em>Or me</em>, she didn’t say, not sure how she felt about having the notice of a shemlen noble. The mabari, Dane, bumped her free hand with his nose; she turned her palm out, cautiously, and the great hound licked her gently.</p><p>“He’s very calming, isn’t he?” Elissa smiled, reaching behind his ears as she continued, “Anyways, you have seen my bow, right? Not as nice as yours, but Highever is as much a naval power as an inland one: my father met my mother as a knight-marine aboard her raider, during the Orlesian war, and I was trained to lead soldiers and sailors alike, in any kind of war.”</p><p>“You were raised to conquer, then?” Lyna replied with an arched brow, though she did her best to keep any malice out of her tone.</p><p>“Only to conquer Orlesians,” Elissa quipped with a faint smile. “Ferelden hasn’t been particularly expansionist since the end of the Avvar wars. I was raised to lead and protect the people, to be their sword and shield and the one to set them in order that they might defend themselves,” she recalled, her voice taking on a rhythmic cadence as if quoting from a poem. Then she shrugged and crossed her arms, the movement drawing Lyna’s eyes to her lean, powerful build, and added, “It’s an idealized role, but one worth living up to, whether it’s in Highever or the Wardens.”</p><p>“I suppose that makes sense,” Lyna nodded, trying not to stare. She wondered if Elissa had been observing her in the same way, and wished that she wasn’t so tired. “Dalish leaders are keepers of knowledge, our histories and ancient magic, but I suppose humans don’t exactly have a lost civilization to look back on.”</p><p>“History doesn’t afford many of us much to be proud of, no,” Elissa agreed. “The only once-great human civilization is Tevinter, and what with all the blood magic and demon-worship—and of course, that’s what the Chantry says about the Dalish, too.” She sighed and slid to the ground, resting against the tree behind her and looping an arm over her hound, who pressed against her side.</p><p>“I’ve still got Dane, at least,” she smiled up at Lyna, who knelt and offered her palm to the mabari again. “He’ll almost never listen to anyone but me, but that’s mabari for you. We call it ‘imprinting,’ the way they’ll pick one person from their formative years and follow them for life.”</p><p>“Will they really?” Lyna marveled, reaching up to rub behind his ears; Dane whuffed and lowered his head. “Look at that, he’s just like a halla.”</p><p>“Those are the great white deer your people herd, right?” Elissa asked, amused. “They were marvelous to see, but it’s odd to imagine Dane being in the same category as any sort of stag.”</p><p>“They are noble companions,” Lyna replied seriously. “The Dalish do not herd them in the way shemlen herd their animals. We do not force them to follow the clan, or to work for us: we ask them, and if they assent, we give them guidance and protection in return.”</p><p>“A bit like marabi, then,” Elissa smiled. “Of course, with mabari it’s generally more guidance and less protection—they’re fierce, if sometimes mischievous. Or perhaps misunderstood,” she added, addressing Dane, “since you <em>were</em> in fact protecting the larder that last time. Not the time before, though. Too clever for your own good, that’s you.”</p><p>Despite herself, Lyna smiled at the hound. “Is that so? You do sound like an excellent companion. Not as noble as a halla, perhaps, but strong and true all the same. And the two of you will never be alone as long as you have each other.”</p><p>Dane thumped his tail happily, and Lyna turned to look at the darkening sky.</p><p>“We should rejoin the others,” she observed, rising to her feet and turning to offer Elissa a hand. “Thank you for the company. Perhaps the Wardens need not be as lonely as I had feared they would be.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Lyna paused in her carving to watch Julian light the campfire. It was a more open show of magic that she was used to, splitting the branches with a gesture before igniting them with a blossom of flame as the newly free mage stretched his wings—or perhaps exercised them, since he seemed only to be growing more comfortable and persistent in the regular use of magic as they traveled.</p><p>“How are you holding up?” He asked, and Lyna ducked her head, not having meant to be seen watching. They had left the Brecilian Forest behind, and spent the day following the Tevinter-built Imperial Highway, and the swift, straight course had been more taxing than she expected.</p><p>“Well enough,” she replied at first. Then, under his evaluating gaze, she sighed and added, “Tired. More than I should be. And… I miss them.” Tamlen, Merrill, Fenarel and Pol, Ashalle, Paivel, Marethari… her parents may have died before she knew them, but she had a family nonetheless, though the Duncan had warned her they might never meet again.</p><p>“Your clan?” Julian asked, moving to sit next to her as she nodded. “I understand. I don’t exactly miss the Circle—Maker, I was glad to get out, I would’ve smashed my phylactery along with Jowan if it had still been in there—but I do miss him and Solona and Anders and the rest.”</p><p>“How did you come to be taken from them?” Lyna asked, her interest piqued by his reflection.</p><p>“I helped a blood mage escape,” Julian answered with a sharp sigh. “Jowan. I didn’t know he was one, of course, but I had suspicions—Irving’s slippery, but he wouldn’t have agreed to make Jowan Tranquil without reason. Even with that, though, I couldn’t do nothing. Tranquility is… awful. Keris, Loren… it’s a kind of living death. They cut you off from the Fade, and that takes your emotions, your hopes and fears and dreams and everything that makes you a <em>person</em>, right along with your magic. They become passive, obedient slaves of the Chantry, and everything about who they were is gone.”</p><p>Lyna inhaled sharply, then exhaled, long and shallow. “And the shemlen call <em>us</em> barbaric,” she cursed.</p><p>“Well, not all shems are so bad,” Julian grinned weakly. “Solona, Anders… we all owe Duncan our lives, and then…”</p><p>“Elissa’s not bad either,” Lyna finished, smiling as well. “I never expected to say that about a shemlen noble. And you’re half-shem—half-human, I should get used to saying—as well, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I am,” Julian confirmed. “I only know a little but… there was a Templar, one of the ones who took me from the alienage—he kept a letter, gave it to me right before he left the Circle. My father was Tevene, but he got kicked out for being too decent, and eventually traveled as far as Gwaren, where he met my mother. They kept their relationship secret—that’s why my first name is from him, and I have her surname—until he died when I was an infant. A few years later the Templars came, and, well, that was that.”</p><p>Lyna nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the fire he’d erected, where Duncan and Kallian were kneeling to prepare the evening’s food.</p><p>“Among the Dalish,” she said, “magic is considered a great gift, one of the last remnants of Arlathan. It is said that all the People once had the gift, but like so much else it was lost with the coming of the shemlen—the humans. Those with magic are traded among clans to ensure that every clan will always have a Keeper, the clan leader who guards what’s left and recovered of our ancient knowledge.”</p><p>“A noble calling,” Julian mused. “Have Circle mages ever found refuge with the Dalish?”</p><p>“Never with my clan,” Lyna shook her head, “but I’ve heard of it happening. It is the duty of the Dalish to prepare for the restoration of the old world, when we—they—will teach the rest what it is to be of Elvhenan, so no elf is turned away if a place can be found for them.”</p><p>“No humans, though,” Julian inferred, and sighed. “I wonder how Jowan is doing, out on his own out here.”</p><p>“The blood mage?” Lyna asked. Julian nodded.</p><p>“I never realized how much there is outside the Circle,” he elaborated. “Weather, terrain, animals, cooking—as freeing and fascinating as it all is, it’s a lot to adjust to, not to mention a myriad of ways to spot an escaped mage. I have found, though, that the people are surprisingly similar.”</p><p>“Really?” The Dalish girl looked at him askance. “All people? I’ve only met shemlen briefly before… my injury, and they seemed quite different from the Dalish.”</p><p>“Oh, there are differences, certainly,” Julian conceded freely, “A lot fewer people waiting to put a sword in my back, for one. On the other hand, I expected the amount of kissing to decline significantly.”</p><p>“I hadn’t noticed a great deal of kissing, myself,” Lyna noted, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Oh, not in the open, no,” Julian agreed again, “and not while we’ve been on the move. But the rest of us had to do something while you were convalescing and it was too dark to be out in the woods.”</p><p>“And is this where you invite me to join in your debauchery?” the elf asked skeptically. Despite her tone, there was an undercurrent of interest to the question, obvious only to one with experience in the simultaneously repressive and hedonistic Circle.</p><p>“Well, if you want to make plans,” Julian grinned, “you’re certainly welcome to, but I wouldn’t want to lead you into temptation before we get your condition stabilized.”</p><p>“Of course,” Lyna sighed, her mock superiority fading into earnest irritation. "Creators, it’s like—cold, waiting to sneak up and drain me like a slain deer, and I want to <em>do</em> something, move so it can’t touch me, but that will just wear me out faster.”</p><p>“I could probably give you a boost,” Julian offered, raising a hand, “if you need it. I know a little healing and rejuvenating magic. But yes, I’d say you shouldn’t try to tire yourself out any more than our march is doing already.” He tilted his head and offered, “At least it’s not far to Ostagar now.”</p><p>“Elissa mentioned,” Lyna nodded. “I suppose picking me up was a relief for her, in a way. Neither of us can wait to get there, however we feel about it otherwise.” She shrugged, adding, “Maybe I can teach you some Dalish ropework, get the two of you to use it properly once I’m cured.”</p><p>“You plan ahead well,” Julian murmured, an eyebrow raised in admiration.</p><p>Lyna shoved him lightly. “It’s a Dalish thing,” she said, “be ready for anything. Especially a good frolicking, as long as it’s not where the woods can see. They get jealous.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Julian exhaled heavily as he sat down next to Kallian, the wards set and campfire crackling. They were camped just beyond the village of Lothering, the last notable settlement before Ostagar, and had spent the last several days following the Imperial Highway, with Dane bounding freely around Elissa and drawing amused, if sometimes startled, cries from Lyna. How the Dalish girl was acclimating so quickly to the great warhound’s presence, Julian could not quite fathom, but the blistering pace Duncan set along the highway had left him too exhausted for such questions.</p><p>“How are you two this fine evening?” The mage jumped as Elissa appeared behind them with a grin.</p><p>“Don’t <em>do</em> that,” Julian muttered, “For a moment I thought you were Ser Morten about to smite me for having a lascivious expression on my face.”</p><p>“You gave Templars lascivious looks?” Elissa asked, seating herself beside the two as they watched Lyna and Duncan take their turn cooking.</p><p>“Hardly,” Julian scoffed. “Even ignoring what Templars <em>are</em>, you do know what they look like, right? Identical steel cans that an Antivan courtesan couldn’t make appealing. No,” he sighed, “Morten had a thing for my best friend, Sol. Had a jealousy issue, too: didn’t like the way we mages… helped each other out. Fortunately, Greagoir got rid of him before anything happened—I think—but Maker knows what he’s up to wherever he ended up.”</p><p>“Ah.” Elissa paused, uncertain what to say next. Kallian laughed dryly.</p><p>“It’s always sunshine and rainbows with us, isn’t it?” the elf reflected. “What about you, your ladyship? Any good stories about jealous guardsmen or possessive nobles?”</p><p>Elissa flushed and looked away. “Maybe in six months. When we’re all drunk,” she demurred. “I’ve—I’m <em>experienced</em>, you know that, I just—that’s not a story I quite want to tell right now.”</p><p>“My apologies,” Julian waved his hand dismissively. “Just the usual subject for dead-tired chitchat in the Circle. If you want to carry the talking, I’d be happy for a lecture on the <em> Cath na Craobhan, </em> or—”</p><p>“The Cathan what now?” Kallian asked, looking between them in confusion.</p><p>“The <em> Cath na Craobhan </em> , or ‘Battle of the Trees’,” Elissa translated. “It’s an old pre-Andrastian poem, part of a cycle called the <em> Legend of Ferelden, </em> although it’s a bit difficult to tell which bits are Avvar and which are Alamarri.”</p><p>“The ‘Battle of the Trees’ is the longest poem in the cycle,” Julian added, “relating the exploits of the warrior Cuscraid and the mage Gwydion, although the Chantry-approved version somehow turns them from lovers into mortal enemies.”</p><p>“Yes, ‘Under the tongue root’ takes on a rather different meaning, doesn’t it,” Elissa laughed. “My grandfather had a collection of those stories that he said dated back to the time of Conobar and the very first Cousland teyrn. I imagine we’d have a clearer account of the legend of Flemeth if that were the case, but however he accumulated them, they… well, they were, at least, quite remarkable.”</p><p>“And you both know this pagan story that’s older than the Chant?” Kallian asked.</p><p>“It’s older than the Chantry in Ferelden,” Julian shrugged, “I don’t know if any of it is actually older than the Chant. The Circle has a copy; Irving showed it to me when I was… fourteen, I think? I’d made a breakthrough with my magic, something that helped solidify my place as his favorite. What did you read in the alienage?”</p><p>“Whatever I could get my hands on, mostly,” Kallian mirrored his gesture. “Tawdry romances, mostly, and scraps of elven history. Stuff from the Chantry, sometimes, but that was almost never worth it, just crap about how the March on the Dales was the elves’ fault and aren’t we lucky to have the Maker now. Once there was a tawdry romance set in the Kingdom of the Dales, that was a fun read. Not sure who has it now.”</p><p>Julian shuddered. “I can’t imagine growing up without books,” he said. “Maker, there was nothing else to do in the Circle. Almost nothing,” he amended with a wink, as Lyna made her way over.</p><p>“What’re you three whispering about?” the Dalish girl asked, the tempting smell of her and Duncan’s effort trailing behind her.</p><p>“Our favorite books,” Julian grinned. “Elissa grew up on ancient Alamarri poems, Kallian likes tawdry romances—”</p><p>“<em>Read</em>, not <em>preferred</em>,” she whacked his arm. “How about you?”</p><p>Lyna made an indifferent noise. “I’ve told you about the stories I grew up on. Stories of the Creators, of the rise and fall of the Dales, of great Keepers, and of hunters like Nandor and Hekeldi. I don’t really have a favorite <em>book</em>, though; Dalish books are for the Keepers to write down the secrets of the old magic, and to record our history so it isn’t lost in the recitation, not to be read for pleasure.”</p><p>“Maker’s itchy sword hand, that’s a tragedy,” Julian muttered, hauling himself to his feet with a sigh. “At least you have the stories, I suppose. Hey, maybe you can write one about us after we drive back the darkspawn. <em>And there the</em>—No, wait, that’s the tune of Anders’ dirty ballad about the Templars, you had better pick the meter.”</p><p>“After we eat,” Kallian reminded him, brushing past the others to head for the fire.</p><p>“Right, food,” Julian nodded and turned to follow her. “No use versifying on an empty stomach, or so the First Enchanter always said.”  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The lit discussion (written before I had to go back and redo some earlier stuff) kind of surprised me, but it helps bring out another side to these folks that I've gestured vaguely at but not had much to do with. Elissa's adjustment of tense re her grandfather's books is in reference to the fact that Castle Cousland got a bit set on fire by Howe's men, although I would hate to suggest that everything was destroyed.</p><p>"Cath na Craobhan" is a mix of Irish and Scottish Gaelic for "The Battle of the Trees," a Welsh poem featuring a wizard named Gwydion and the lines, "Under the tongue root a fight most dread, and another raging behind in the head," which incidentally form the chorus to John Williams' "Duel of the Fates."</p><p>As for Lyna's stories, the Nandor (People of Dor, Green Elves) and Hekeldi (Forsaken Elves) are both Sindarin tribes of the Teleri in Tolkien's Silmarillion; I imagine Lyna's story as something in the vein of Beren and Luthien, albeit more suited for a nomadic people.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Last Outpost</h2></a>
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    <p>The fortress at Ostagar had demarcated the greatest southward extent of the ancient Tevinter Imperium, held only for a few decades before the outbreak of the First Blight and, when that calamity finally ended, Andraste’s Match had weakened and then shattered the Imperium’s grip on southern Thedas. Even the kingdom of Ferelden, to which the ruins formally belonged, had not had any presence at the site since some time prior to the Orlesian occupation.</p><p>In consequence of all of which, the Imperial Highway—still reasonably maintained throughout more inhabited parts of the country—gave way to dirt road just past the village of Lothering, just over half a day’s march from Ostagar, and the fact that tall enough structures still stood for arches and a tower to be visible over the trees was nothing short of astounding.</p><p>Elissa and Duncan already knew all of that, of course, and Lyna didn’t particularly care about the history of shemlen architecture—loudly so, in fact. Which left him talking to Kallian, who was at least content to listen to his excitement and happy to question him in turn about his magic. She’d spoken to Merrill briefly in the Brecilian Forest as well, although the Dalish mage had mostly been busy assisting the Keeper with Lyna while the Wardens had been in their camp.</p><p>“The basic problem with fire is control,” he was explaining, turning back to an earlier inquiry, “the ability to keep the fire going without spending too much energy making sure it doesn’t go off on its own. With electricity it’s about precision, directing the energy to your chosen target rather than allowing it to ground itself on something more convenient—like yourself, if you’re incredibly unlucky.”</p><p>Kallian snorted. “Good thing we’ve got more luck than most, then, isn’t it? Bet you we haven’t gotten out of our last impossible scrapes together.”</p><p>Before Julian could reply, he and Kallian alike, as well as their companions, were distracted by the appearance, at the end of the now almost grassy road, of a heavily armored figure, shining brilliantly in almost garish gold.</p><p>“Is that the king?” Elissa murmured. “To greet us? Surely he must be busier than that, with the darkspawn so near.” But busy or otherwise, it was indeed King Cailan, and the youthful monarch stepped forward jovially to greet them.</p><p>“I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!” The king's exclamation to Duncan was all excitement as he clasped his arm enthusiastically. </p><p>“Not if I could help it, your Majesty,” Duncan replied, his expression tightening minutely. Julian shared a glance with Kallian, and Lyna muttered something under her breath that might have been <em> How did you idiots conquer us?</em>, though nobody brought her remark to attention.</p><p>“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!” Cailan exulted. “Glorious! The other Wardens tell me you’ve found some promising recruits; I take it these are they?”</p><p>Duncan affirmed the inference, and the king turned to Elissa. “You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not? I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”</p><p>“Yes, your Majesty. I am Elissa,” she replied with a stiff bow. Straightening, she added, “My fellow recruits: Julian Surana of Kinloch Hold, Kallian Tabris of Denerim, Lyna Mahariel of clan Sabrae. There are things you must know, your Majesty, that have occurred in Denerim and Amaranthine—”</p><p>“Your arl’s son is dead,” Kallian interrupted. “I killed him to prevent him from raping my cousin. And your other arl’s a traitor and killed,” she gestured to Elissa, “her whole family, except her brother who’d already gone south with their guard.”</p><p>King Cailan’s clean-shaven, boyishly pretty face was a tableau of open-mouthed shock. “I—I see,” he stammered. “Er, could you… elaborate? I mean, Duncan, do you know anything about this?”</p><p>“Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty,” Duncan confirmed. “Arl Rendon Howe attacked Highever castle and committed slaughter-under-trust of all inside. Lady Elissa and I were fortunate to escape with our lives. As for Vaughan Kendalls, Arl Urien’s son did indeed assault an elven wedding party and abduct the female participants; this young woman rescued herself and her companions, and I conscripted her, in recognition of her skills and bravery, rather than allow her to face judgement for defending her fellows.”</p><p>“I see,” Cailan repeated dumbly. “Well, I’m not sure what I’ll tell Arl Urien when he arrives, but I suppose there’s nothing to do now, and I certainly can't fault this young lady for fighting back against such barbarism. And speaking of barbarians,” he turned back to Elissa, rallying, “I have no idea what made Howe think he could get away with such treachery. As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring him to justice, you have my word.” </p><p>“Thank you, your Majesty,” she bowed again, before the king added that Fergus was unfortunately occupied scouting in the Wilds, and would not return until after the coming battle. Elissa pursed her lips in worry but nodded her understanding, though she also thought, worriedly, that defeating the darkspawn would take longer than the king appeared to believe—would, in fact, require killing the archdemon, though Cailan seemed not concerned but disappointed by its silence. </p><p>“I’d hoped for a war like in the tales: a king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do,” he sighed, “and I should go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.”</p><p>“He didn’t seem to take the Blight very seriously,” Elissa frowned as they watched the king depart. </p><p>“If the shem nations had been led by men like that,” Lyna scoffed, “the elven Dales would be the biggest kingdom in the world today.”</p><p>“What the king said is true,” Duncan sighed, with the air of a man admitting to a disingenuous technicality. “They’ve won several battles against the darkspawn here. But despite those victories, the horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us, and there are too few Wardens in Ferelden as it is: we sent a call west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but they will not arrive for a week or more. In the meantime, we must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. We should also proceed with the Joining ritual as soon as possible, but first I will give you a chance to familiarize yourselves with the camp. Go where you wish, but do not leave it for the time being; when you are ready, find Alistair, the junior Warden, and he will bring you to me.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They had drifted into pairs to explore the camp, Elissa and Lyna and Dane heading one way while Kallian tagged after Julian in search of the Circle mages. They’d stopped briefly to speak to an older mage who introduced herself as Wynne; Julian smiled and greeted her pleasantly, but excused them as soon as possible.</p><p>“She seemed nice enough to me,” Kallian observed in question as they moved on.</p><p>“Nice enough is right,” Julian frowned, squeezing her hand. “She’s one of the Circle leaders, an Aequitarian. Conservative, moralizing, accommodationist, I’m sure you know the type. She means well, but refuses to acknowledge that there’s anything basically wrong with our situation, even if we can’t change it.”</p><p>“I do know the type,” Kallian affirmed. “Da taught me to keep my head down, but Shianni was always getting into fights with anyone who tried to defend the way things were. She’s the one who cold-cocked the arl’s bastard,” she added with a smirk, fading as she continued, “I hope she’s doing alright now.”</p><p>“From what you've said already, your cousin sounds like she’s tough to beat,” Julian assured her. “It may take her some time, but I’m sure she’ll be rabble-rousing again soon enough.”</p><p>Kallian nodded and leaned against him briefly, causing him to stumble, and they tripped over each other laughing but were able to keep their feet. As he demonstratively smoothed his robes, Julian’s gaze suddenly focused past Kallian and he hauled her after him by the hand.</p><p>“Solona!” </p><p>
  <span>The figure, when she turned around and they drew near, was that of a striking human woman. She was near Julian’s height, with hair much the same color as Kallian’s and somewhat more pronounced figure, wearing embroidered blue robes with a wide sash for a belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jules!” she cried, throwing her arms around him before pulling back for a kiss. “I thought Irving delayed your Harrowing just to keep you at the Circle. How did you end up here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah,” Julian blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped back. “It’s, well, a bit of a long story. Upshot is, I passed my Harrowing, and I’m with the Grey Wardens now—this,” he added, stepping back and gesturing to her, “is Kallian Tabris of Denerim, another Warden-recruit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure to meet you, Kallian,” Solona turned a confident smile on her and Kallian ducked her head with unusual shyness, taking Solona’s offered hand with a feeling of unusual deference. “I’m sure you and Julian will be great for each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian blushed at the (accurate) implication. Julian had painted a fairly furtive picture of Circle life, but—perhaps in the absence of Templars—his friend displayed a self-assured and intriguing charm at least equal to his own. An old tale sprang suddenly to mind, a story she’d overheard one of her da’s friends telling of how mages could bind ordinary people to their will like puppets on strings, and her blush intensified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he is,” she replied, covering her own surprise with an equally instinctive grin as she dove into audacity. “And the noble girl they picked up before me. Never thought I’d be happy a shem was stronger than I am, but she’s not half bad.” Her smirk turned conspiratorial as she added, “We’re going to go arl-hunting together, if His Gildedness doesn’t catch the bastard first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solona looked, understandably, slightly unbalanced by Kallian’s sudden leaning into her flirting and subsequent turn to the macabre, but she recovered remarkably well, turning back to Julian with a raised brow as she noted, “This noble sounds like an interesting companion. I don’t suppose you’ve learned her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elissa Cousland, second in line for the Highever teyrnir,” Julian replied, smiling at Solona’s well-masked surprise. “She’s nice: well-read, adventurous, with a pretty good sense of justice, although right now she’s more focused on duty and revenge. We had an interesting night of the day we met: the first part was enjoyable; the second part… well, murder, mayhem, and slaughter under trust,” his expression soured and his tone flattened at the memory of Howe’s attack under hospitality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>put a damper on things,” he continued, “although she’s functioning remarkably well. She’s taken a shine to Lyna, as well—she’s a Dalish hunter we picked up, quieter in the woods and a better shot with her bow than I’d have thought possible—and all four of us have enough overlapping grudges that we could probably do pretty well seeking vengeance for a living if the Wardens don’t work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be careful there, Jules,” Solona warned with a knowing grin. “You know what the stories all say: There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there not?” Kallian asked, inserting herself into the banter again. “I thought that was the point of avenging yourself on a noble, getting to steal a sackload of their stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that how the guard tracked you down?” Julian asked, in a tone of false realization. “The sack of Arl Urien’s stuff you took from his </span>
  <em>
    <span>palais</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Too bad you had to leave it all in Denerim, I bet we could get all sorts of useful things from the quartermaster with that amount of gold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Kallian retorted amicably, shoving Julian without effect. “As a matter of fact, I did loot Vaughan’s corpse: he offered me forty sovereigns not to kill him, there was no reason not to go through his clothes for loose change. Not a sackload of stuff, but I was more concerned about the guard burning down the alienage than making a profit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re certainly both in good hands,” Solona smiled at the two Warden-recruits. “How about this: I’m sure you’ll be busy getting settled in tonight before the battle, but if tomorrow evening’s any quieter, perhaps we could spend some time catching up? Bring the others, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” Julian returned her smile, stepping close again to embrace her. “If we don’t get the chance,” he added suddenly, holding her hand tightly, “watch your step when you get back to the tower. I… left the Knight-Commander rather displeased with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solona cut off anything else he might have said with a kiss. “I know how to keep my head down,” she reminded him, “although I’ll admit I never thought you would be a magnet for trouble. Jowan, maybe—ah,” she nodded at the change in his expression. “Well, you’ll have to get that story to me someday. Best of luck, Jules; from what I hear of the Wardens, you’re going to need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian returned her smile and embraced her again, kissing a third time—or a fifth, Kallian supposed, depending on how one counted—before stepping back with a bow and a wave and heading for the main part of the mage encampment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian turned to her friend, raising an eyebrow. “Are all mages such… characters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The good ones,” Julian replied with a grin. “At least, the good ones who haven’t been beaten into submission. We have to make our own lives interesting: it’s not like anything ever happens in the Circle just on its own, and Sol was never particularly shy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the opposite of you, then,” Kallian grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oddly, yes,” Julian retorted. “I was an absolute mouse most of the time—er, well, something to that effect. I found it easier to keep my head down when I had to if I did it all the time. Solona helped me keep going, but I’ve come out of my shell rather astonishingly since I got out of the tower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re what happens when mages get set loose, it doesn’t say anything good about the Chantry for wanting to keep you all locked up,” Kallian noted wryly.  “Come on, let’s see what else is out here before we have to find the others.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elissa paced through the camp somewhat aimlessly, Dane close at her side, letting Lyna direct the flow of their exploration as she dispassionately noted the features of a military field camp that she’d studied but never before seen put into full-scale practice—and, if they could hold out that long, ready to receive even more troops, from Redcliffe and across the mountains in Orlais.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And somewhere north of Redcliffe, between Arl Eamon’s forces and the Orlesians, Rendon Howe luxuriated in her family’s blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something is wrong here,” she muttered, half to herself and half to Lyna. “Has the king—” she cut herself off and rephrased, “I’ve never met His Majesty before, but my father spoke of him, and if he never respected him to the degree he did Maric, well, that was a high bar to clear. He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>respect</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, though, thought he had a good head on his shoulders, but now he’s fighting an endless defensive action and treats it like a child’s fantasy? What in the world has happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose he could be trying to keep spirits up,” Lyna mused, glancing at a trio of armored men who looked like they’d stolen a coal mine’s canary. “Not that it’s working. I’m new to shems, but it’s obvious even to me that people are tired and anxious. I bet they’ve lost as many to desertion as the darkspawn at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elissa wanted to object, but she simply sighed, studying the leaflike lines tattooed on her companion’s face. She’d read that Dalish tattoos represented their gods, and wondered which one Lyna’s stood for, but she worried it might be rude to ask, and in any case it would be a non sequitur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does seem that way,” she agreed. “The longer we’re stuck waiting for the archdemon, the weaker the army will be when it finally arrives, and the worse shape the rest of the country will be in: there’s no telling what Howe could be up to this moment, and yet the only worse option is doing anything that weakens our position here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed again and adjusted her sword belt, allowing herself to imagine the look on Howe’s face as she twisted the blade inside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on over there?” Lyna’s question pulled Elissa from her momentary fantasy as Dane began sniffing and whining in the same direction as the Dalish girl was pointing, toward the kennels around a ruined tower where the mabari that had accompanied the army were kept in camp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you the new Warden recruits?” An army hound-master asked as they approached, “I could use some help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the problem?” Elissa asked in return. A mabari was cowering in the back of the nearest pen, barking fearfully and obviously unwell. Dane whined at her side, fully alert to the other hound’s suffering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This mabari’s owner died in the last battle,” the hound-master replied, “and the poor animal swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought there was no cure for the Blight sickness,” Lyna observed, looking sadly at the hound and thinking of the damp cave and a pitch-black flash of awful light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shook his head. “I don’t know how it is for humans,” he answered, “but mabari are durable, resilient. If you could lend a hand, young lady, I think he might make it—but not if he keeps going at himself the way he’s doing right now. I won’t be able to cure him without that muzzle, and he’s afraid of everything he knows right now. A stranger might be the only thing to get through to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’ll try.” She turned to Elissa, adding, “Just don’t let him tear my throat out, right? Don’t want him thinking everything’ll be alright again if he rips up the little Dalish girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just go in the pen and let him smell you,” the hound-master assured her, scarcely reacting to her mention of her heritage—but then, he’d said nothing of her vallaslin, either. “We’ll know right away if he responds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna nodded silently and slipped through the barely-opened gate, padding softly toward the mabari as if she were back in the Brecilian forest, stalking a wild animal or, more appropriately, approaching a wounded halla. The dog barked and whined, its protests growing more feeble as she drew near, but it held still and allowed her to muzzle it without resistance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well done,” the hound-master praised her as he shut the kennel gate behind her again. “Now I can treat the dog properly, poor fellow. Come to think of it,” he added speculatively, “are you heading into the Wilds anytime soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s possible,” Lyna replied; Duncan had seemed to suggest it, though he’d said nothing clear. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“”There’s a particular herb I could use,” the hound-master explained, “to improve the dog’s chances. It grows in the swamps around here. If you happen across it, I could use it. It’s very distinctive: All white, with a blood-red center.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep an eye out,” Lyna promised, committing the description to memory, and hoping that the coloration really was as distinctive as it sounded—it wouldn’t do to look for a healing herb and bring back an exotic spice or a poison or a plain rare flower instead, but the hound-master seemed to know his dogs, so she trusted him just as she would have trusted Master Ivren on a matter of woodcraft, or Keeper Marethari on a point of ancient lore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left the hound-master with the mabari and toured gradually around the rest of the camp, noting which parts of the army were camped where, and where the sickbeds and other such shared spaces were established. Lyna paused to slip a hard biscuit and a flask of water from a guard for a shem soldier who’d been falsely convicted of desertion, and at length they reached the end of the camp, where another soldier stood guard by a gate in the palisade that permitted direct access to the wooded slopes that descended around the plain to join the Korcari Wilds. With nothing else to do, and having lingered long enough as it was, they proceeded swiftly back to the bridge to meet their companions.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Time to find this Warden Alistair?” Julian asked as the four recruits reunited near the bridge from the eastern ramparts. </p><p>He and Kallian had followed their visit to Solona by trading with the quartermaster, despite his attitude, selling the few extra daggers and similar items she’d taken from the arl of Denerim’s estate for a few silvers and bits, plus a handful of health and lyrium potions. Julian could brew the former, given time—he’d been collecting herbs as they traveled for that purpose—but lyrium was far harder to acquire, and given the circumstances it had seemed like a good use of the coin all around.</p><p>“We’ve all had a chance to look around,” Elissa agreed, nodding. “We should get on with our official business, and show each other anything we missed later.”</p><p>A soldier on guard at the end of the bridge directed them northward when the asked after Alistair, and following the trail through the camp to the mostly empty ruin of a long hall, at the near end of which, elevated above the rest, stood what had once been a room of its own, perhaps the base of a tower overlooking the valley and mirroring the Tower of Ishal, where a young man in chainmail was exchanging heated words with a mage.</p><p>“I will not be harassed in this manner!” The mage was shouting as the four neared.</p><p>“Oh, yes,” the soldier replied, “I was harassing you by delivering a message.”</p><p>“Your glibness does you no credit,” the mage hissed—Julian recognized him now as Enchanter Varnell, moved from Kirkwall to Ferelden some years ago and, while not an outright Libertarian, bitterly resentful of everything and everyone associated with the Chantry.</p><p>“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” the soldier retorted, doubling down, “I was going to name one of my children after you. <em> The grumpy one </em>,” he added, folding his arms over his splint-mail.</p><p>“Fine,” the mage hissed. “I will speak to the Revered Mother if I must. Out of my way,” he added bitterly to the recruits as he stalked past them.</p><p>“The wonderful thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” the soldier sighed, turning to the new arrivals.</p><p>“Oh, come off it,” Julian rolled his eyes as he stood forward. “You have to understand, we mages spend most of our lives doing nothing <em> but </em> being harassed by the Chantry, through intermediaries or otherwise.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose you’re here to yell at me, too?” The soldier replied, warily. “Oh, wait, there’s four of you—you must be the new recruits Duncan brought. I’m Alistair.”</p><p>“Julian Surana,” the mage bowed perfunctorily. “<em>Formerly </em> of the Circle of Magi. Enchanter Varnell can be an ass, I’m sure, but if you were after him for a revered mother I’m afraid you likely brought it on yourself.”</p><p>“I suppose,” Alistair laughed awkwardly in apology. “I can be a bit obnoxious sometimes. Just trying to find the humor in things, but it doesn’t always come across well. I never would have agreed to deliver the message—I was raised by the Chantry, you see, and would have become a templar if Duncan hadn’t found me, and I’m sure the Revered Mother meant sending me as an insult—but Duncan says we’re all to get along, so I couldn’t very well refuse her outright. Who’s everyone else?”</p><p>Elissa stepped forward then, as Julian extended a hand theatrically and stood aside, followed by Kallian and Lyna. “I am Elissa Cousland,” she declared, bowing slightly, “daughter of the teyrn of Highever. These are Kallian Tabris of Denerim and Lyna Mahariel of the Sabrae. Duncan told us to find you.”</p><p>“Right, he would have,” Alistair nodded, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “As the junior Warden, I’ll be accompanying you on your Joining. So—I’m curious: Have any of you actually encountered darkspawn before?”</p><p>“We all have, actually,” Lyna spoke up. “In the Brecilian Forest. It’s—there was a tainted artifact near my clan’s camp. That’s how Duncan and the rest found me.”</p><p>“Duncan alluded to something like that, yes,” Alistair nodded again, his eyes darting between her and Elissa. “Well, I guess you all know what they’re like, then. I wasn’t prepared at all, the first time I met one, for how horrid they are, but I suppose you’ve learned that firsthand. Let’s go, then, unless there’s anything else I can do for any of you?”</p><p>There wasn’t, though Julian had been giving him an odd look since his admission he’d been raised to be a templar. Still, he was <em> nice </em> enough, and seemed to recognize at least a few of the Chantry’s flaws to some degree, so the mage held the unformulated question and gestured for the Warden to lead on.</p><p>They followed Alistair back down and out of the ruined hall and across the camp to a ruined stone gazebo, within which Duncan waited by a towering bonfire. </p><p>“I take it you’re ready to begin preparations,” he greeted them, “assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.”</p><p>“What can I say?” Alistair protested, “The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.”</p><p>“She forced you to sass the mage, did she?” Duncan riposted. Julian laughed quietly, frowning as the Warden added, “We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. Our position is still tenuous, and we do not need to give anyone more to use against us.”</p><p>Alistair sighed and apologized, and departed to collect the remaining two recruits. Lyna stared meditatively into the pyre while Julian and Kallian conversed quietly, and Elissa looked somberly across the camp. Soon enough, Alistair returned, followed by a darkly tanned archer and a lightly bearded, balding man with a greatsword slung across his back.</p><p>
  <span>Duncan made introductions between them; Ser Jory, the swordsman, bowed on hearing Elissa’s surname, and the archer, Daveth, gave Kallian a polite nod with a cryptic comment about the Denerim back alleys before Duncan gave them their assignments: to retrieve a vial of darkspawn blood for each recruit, and a cache of old treaty documents in an abandoned tower. </span>
</p><p>Alistair led them to the southern gates, and they headed into the Wilds.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the delayed update; I took a look at this before posting and felt very dissatisfied with the middle two bits—which, thanks to grad school, it then took forever to revise, and the outcome is still in my opinion pretty mixed. I'm cutting down the update schedule to once every two weeks to try to make the most of the rest of my pre-written cushion, since my writing time and energy is almost entirely taken up by coursework, and that's not even getting into screen exhaustion.</p><p>Title inspiration (since we've arrived at the point whereafter a lot of chapter titles will make reference to things beyond DA) is from Star Trek: TNG, although in this case it's really just a literally descriptive phrase that also has a nice resonance to it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Something in the Glade There</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elissa sighed in irritation. The other two recruits were named Daveth and Jory: the former, a salvaged cutpurse and distant acquaintance of Kallian’s, whose worst feature was his apparent desire to get into the pants of any woman who met him; the latter, a knight from Redcliffe who, despite his strength and reputed skill, struck Elissa as leagues too cowardly to have fought in anything but a staged tournament. </p><p>At least Daveth was confident and capable of shutting up, she supposed, not that it would save his fingers if he didn’t put the latter skill to use over the former. Alistair, on the other hand, was cute—her senior in the Wardens, true, but about her age, and six months wasn’t much by any reckoning, if nothing ultimately developed with her current companions. Or if it did; she’d caught some of Julian’s banter with Kallian, and the idea was rather appealing.</p><p>For now, however, she pulled her focus away from Lyna’s backside and returned to scanning the surrounding undergrowth. The Dalish girl, having by far the most experience in wild forests like this, was in the lead, followed by Kallian and Daveth, who at least had some experience in moving quietly and with their eyes sharply open. Alistair followed the two of them, and Elissa, Jory, and Julian brought up the rear, the half-elven mage clutching his staff tightly and muttering under his breath.</p><p>“Are you alright, Julian?” The mage startled at the question before exhaling and shaking his head.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he insisted. “A little nervous. I was never really trained for battle. Was just keeping up a bit of a barrier spell, it should sustain itself well enough if I have to drop my focus to cast fire at something.”</p><p>“You did well enough bathing Howe's men in fire and storm,” she smiled reassuringly. He shrugged.</p><p>“Well, primal magic is about the safest thing to be skilled at," he demurred. "Even spirit healing gets the Templars twitchy, what with all the, well, spirits. I'm mostly worried about pacing myself, not ending up having to leave—wait, what’s that?”</p><p>“That” turned out to be a pack of frenzied wolves, which charged out of the bushes toward the Wardens with a chorus of angry howls. Lyna loosed an arrow into one’s eye at point-blank range before leaping back toward the rest of the group; Kallian and Daveth both evaded the initial charge before rounding on the wolves from the side while the warriors moved up. Before they could do more than absorb the charge, however—Elissa and Alistair batting aside wolves with their shields, while Jory cut one open with his greatsword as it leapt at him—Julian raised his staff and slammed it against the ground. </p><p>A wave of frost swept from the head of his staff, swirling around the warriors but coating the fur of the wolves in rime and stopping them in their tracks, before the mage brandished his staff again, casting a bolt of lightning at the closest wolf—which then leapt to the next, and then the next two, and on until every one of the attacking beasts cracked and crumpled to the ground, frostbitten and fried.</p><p>There was a pause, broken only by the mage’s labored breathing. None of the others had seen the devastation a primal mage could inflict in combat before, and Elissa found herself appreciating—not condoning, but at least beginning to understand—the fear that must have driven the Chantry’s founders to demand that mages be locked away from the world.</p><p>“Uh, well done,” Alistair said eventually. “All of you, really, but… that was impressive. Come on, let’s keep moving. We’ve got to find darkspawn, and those treaties.”</p><p>Not much farther on, however, they found something else: the bodies of an army patrol, strewn across the path and torn to pieces, clearly themselves victims of the darkspawn. Elissa cried out and rushed to the first body, heaving a sigh of relief when she identified the face before moving on to the rest, one by one. The others joined in searching the area, Lyna and Alistair keeping a lookout while the rest examined the site itself.</p><p>“Found another one over here,” Daveth called from the edge of a swampy pond. “Looks like a Chantry brother. What in the Maker’s name was he doing out here?”</p><p>“Never mind that, someone’s still alive!” Elissa called back, having continued up the path examining the fallen bodies. “Julian, can you do anything?”</p><p>The mage hurried up to where the injured, but still living, scout lay on his stomach. The man had been stabbed and suffered several smaller wounds, but had somehow clung to life, and magic flared around Julian’s hands as he knelt beside him.</p><p>“I can’t do too much, or I won’t be much use to anyone else,” he warned, “but I should be able to get him walking without using too many of our own supplies. It’s not a far walk back to camp,” he added to the soldier as the worst cuts faded into shallower abrasions, and Alistair, having joined them, worked to bandage the rest. </p><p>“I—ah, I, uh,” the man stammered, his eyes fixed on Julian’s glowing hands.</p><p>“Oh, for—” Julian cut himself off, but rolled his eyes as he stood and looked down at the soldier he’d saved. “‘Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him.’ I just saved your life, I rather think that counts as a service, don’t you? No, forget it, just get your injured ass back to camp, it’s that way.” </p><p>The scout scampered off, and Julian released a sigh at his back that rumbled in his throat with irritation.</p><p>“I didn’t realize you could quote the Chant so readily,” Elissa observed with a raised brow, taking the lull to clean her blade of the wolves’ blood from before. Julian laughed shortly.</p><p>“Well, it’s not like I know it by heart,” he shrugged. “After all, it’s bad history and worse literature, but that fucking line was drilled into our heads a dozen times a day, without pause. I don’t want to rule the world, I want to be treated like a person—but, well, that’s for another time. Idiots aren’t the problem right now, the darkspawn in this forest are.”</p><p>A frustrated noise from Lyna caught their attention before Elissa could respond; Jory, it seemed, had reacted poorly to the thought of having to face darkspawn now that he had seen what they could do. Alistair assured them he could sense darkspawn coming (“You see, ser knight?” Daveth quipped cheerily, “We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first!”) and prodded the party to get a move on.</p><p>Mindful of the declining sun, move on they did, and it wasn’t long before Alistair shouted a warning and, a moment later, a hurlock came charging down the path beneath a log from which hung several Fereldan soldiers’ corpses. Lyna swiftly found its eye with an arrow, and a second after that Julian drove a Stonefist into its upper chest, bowling the creature over and allowing Kallian to leap forward and slit its throat. More darkspawn followed as the warriors caught up, and Julian ducked around the edge of the down that rose alongside the path to catch an enterprising trio of genlock archers in a bath of immolating fire.</p><p>With the threat passed, they turned to the corpses, Lyna and Elissa helping Alistair tap the salvageable corpses for the necessary vials of blood while Kallian and Daveth checked their armor for any useful or valuable items not stained with their filth. </p><p>“Alright, let’s move on,” Lyna said, pocketing a vial with one hand and holding a rag over her nose with the other. “I swear the blighters in the Brecilian Forest didn’t <em> stink </em> this much.”</p><p>“Could just be that we weren’t trying to collect their blood,” Julian suggested as they forged ahead. </p><p>“That does sound likely,” Elissa agreed ruefully as she attempted to clean her hands with her own rag, sighing at the Taint-stained fabric before tucking it into an empty pouch. </p><p>The swamps grew hillier as they pressed on, and a short while later they were met by another volley of genlocks and, beyond them, a few hurlocks being assaulted by a pack of wolves. Arrows and lightning took care of the survivors from both groups, and while Julian knelt by a corpse with Alistair, Elissa and Kallian headed to the crest of the hill. </p><p>“Another missionary? Strange,” the elf muttered, checking over the body of the fallen Chantry brother. “Hm. He had family in Redcliffe and a campsite around here. May as well send his things back to them, if we stumble across it.”</p><p>“What are so many people doing in the Wilds with a darkspawn horde gathering?” Elissa shook her head and sighed. “No use worrying about that now. West looks like the best path, I think. Let’s get moving.”</p><p>The path west from Rigby’s corpse—as the missionary had been called, according to his note—wound through low-lying but reasonably solid stretched of bogland, eventually circling past a wall of ruined arches, possibly elven: They resembled, to Elissa’s eyes, the sketches from her studies depicting ruins in the Exalted Plains of Orlais that still stood, in pieces, after two thousand years. Beyond that wall stood more ruins, in worse repair, with more soldiers hanging from them; just beyond that grisly sight, though once again Elissa recognized none of the faces, was an open field and, across it, a small wooden bridge with a staff-wielding hurlock upon it.</p><p>“An Emissary,” Alistair warned, and Julian rushed forward to freeze the hurlock solid, allowing the warriors to move forward unmolested—until a band of genlocks sprang from the bushes, at which point the mage cursed under his breath and slammed his staff against the ground, summoning a bolt of lightning from the clouds high overhead that cracked the ice and left the hurlock smoking beneath—but still moving. </p><p>Julian called a warning and brandished his staff again, preparing another gout of flame, but Elissa pivoted swiftly from the last genlock within her reach, bringing her sword around in a lightning-quick arc that severed the disoriented monster’s head from its shoulders. He nodded his thanks with a heaving breath, pinching his forehead as he dropped his barrier spell for a minute to get his mana back. </p><p>They came across Rigby’s abandoned camp a little farther on, and Kallian dug the missionary’s lockbox out of the firepit while the others peered through the moss- and vine-covered trees for signs of the abandoned Warden tower. Elissa glanced at the sun; it had been perhaps an hour and a half since they left the army’s camp, which gave them time, but not spades of it.</p><p>“Up this way!” Julian called, and the party coalesced again, following a grassy slope toward what did indeed look to be the ruins of a tower rather more recently built than the elegant stone arches they had seen previously. More darkspawn barred their path, but the mage had regained his wind and put every ounce of strength into his spells, and the battle was over by the time Elissa brought down her first hurlock, leaving Ser Jory still puffing up the hill.</p><p>They moved into the remains of the structure cautiously, quickly spotting the chest that presumably contained the abandoned documents: it was, after all, almost the only object in the ruin not made of stone, though it was obviously dilapidated, and Julian shook his head as he knelt before it.</p><p>“Whatever seals were on this,” he observed, running his hands over the decayed wood, “they wore off long ago. There’s nothing in here.” The tower must have been abandoned long ago, and left undisturbed by dreaming creatures: the Veil felt slightly thicker than elsewhere in the swamps, and that emptiness could have weakened the ambient mana necessary to sustain any seal.</p><p>Before the others could offer any suggestion or exclamation, however, a new voice interrupted: “Well, well, what have we here?” </p><p>Elissa—and everyone else—whirled at the sound, tensing. The speaker was a strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman, made all the more remarkable by the strange contrast of her sturdy-looking leather boots and leggings with her wide, elaborate necklaces and loose purple tunic, which revealed more of her well-formed chest than it covered. If she was dressed oddly, however, her gaze and movements were those of an experienced mountain hunter, and the only thing that kept Elissa’s hand from straying to her sword was the certainty, supported by the staff in her hand, that this woman was a Wilds mage, likely more than a match for any of them, perhaps save Julian.</p><p>“Are you a vulture, I wonder?” The woman continued as she approached them, her pronunciation oddly cultured and almost condescending, “A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”</p><p>She stalked forward slowly, clearly aware of her beauty and its effect on the men and women before her, pausing before the recruits and crossing her arms as she fixed them with an amber-eyed gaze. “What say you, hm? Scavenger, or intruder?”</p><p>“I would say salvager, rather,” Julian was the first to find his voice. “This tower once belonged to the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>“‘Tis a tower no longer,” the woman shrugged in reply, sauntering past them to the edge of the foundations, looking out over the swamp. “The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched your progress for some time: ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘Why are they here?’ </p><p>“And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long,” she turned to regard them again. “Why is that?”</p><p>“Don’t answer her,” Alistair cautioned in an undertone. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”</p><p>“Ooo,” the woman laughed, raising her arms theatrically, and drawing Elissa’s eyes to her chest again, “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Alistair muttered dryly, “Swooping <em> is </em> bad.”</p><p>“She’s a witch of the wilds, she is!” Daveth exclaimed, covering his mouth in fear. “She’ll turn us into toads!” Turning in response to his outburst had put Julian back in Elissa’s view, and she could see the mage roll his eyes and the brash cutpurse’s sudden terror.</p><p>“Witch of the Wilds?” the witch in question scoffed. “Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no mind of your own?” Her gaze swept over the rest of the party, fastening again on Julian—perhaps because he was a mage, perhaps because he had spoken before without fear or opposition.</p><p>“You there, handsome lad,” she commanded, “Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized.”</p><p>“I am called Julian,” the Circle mage replied, confident and friendly, with a modest bow. </p><p>“And you may call me Morrigan,” their interlocutor at last introduced herself, smiling assessingly. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest—something that is here no longer?”</p><p>“‘Here no longer’?” Alistair snapped. “You stole them, didn’t you! You’re some kind of—sneaky… witch-thief!” Julian could not entirely suppress his snort of laughter, and Elissa caught Kallian pinching her forehead; she herself had to admit, as well, that the former templar initiate was clearly not as well-versed in dealing with others, especially mages, as he was in swinging his blade.</p><p>“How very eloquent,” Morrigan drawled, amused, “and how does one steal from dead men?”</p><p>“Quite easily, it seems,” Alistair retorted, and Julian cocked his head at Elissa in a gesture that seemed to convey <em> Well, you have to give him that one</em>. “Those documents are Grey Warden property,” Alistair continued, oblivious to their byplay, “and I suggest you return them.”</p><p>“I will not,” Morrigan replied archly, “for ‘twas not I who removed them.”</p><p>Julian sighed and stepped forward again, interrupting the wilder mage’s sparring with their de jure leader, and Morrigan swiftly offered to bring them to the one who had taken the treaties: her mother. Julian bowed again in thanks, and gestured for the witch to lead on.</p><p>“I’d be careful,” Alistair warned again, though Elissa could no longer quite tell if he was speaking from his training or the swift personal dislike he and Morrigan appeared to have established. “First it’s ‘I like you,’ but then, <em> zap!</em>—frog time.”</p><p>“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will!” Daveth fretted. Julian pinched his brow and turned away from the rogue, stalking after Morrigan with Kallian by his side.</p><p>“If the pot’s warmer than this forest,” Jory snapped, having finally found his voice again, “it’d be a nice change.”</p><p>“And that,” Elissa sighed, “is the first sensible thing you’ve said this evening, but enough. Let’s not fall behind.”</p><p>Cursing her luck for once again ending up between the coward and the now-cowardly lecher, Elissa hurried after her friends, and the witch who had become their guide.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Morrigan led the band of aspiring Grey Wardens (plus one junior Warden, suddenly demoted from guide to unfavored tagalong) deeper into the swamps, moving with a quick and confident silence that reminded Lyna of her own abilities when hunting in forests her clan had frequented regularly. They had traveled in relative silence since their first meeting, the witch neither continuing with her barbs nor asking anyone’s name but Julian’s, while the mage, and the rest of the recruits in turn, largely respected her preference for quiet—although Lyna could hear Daveth and Jory exchanging the occasional whispered remark, and Elissa’s unvoiced irritation.</p><p>Fortunately, their enlarged party meant the previous near two hours of swamp-crossing and fighting had not been too draining on the Dalish hunter, though the days of travel beforehand—and the fact that they had arrived in late morning, and left the camp before midday meal—meant that she was flagging somewhat nonetheless, and looking sharply forward to whatever doubtlessly horrifying, or at least disgusting, ritual involving darkspawn blood would somehow cure her of the Taint.</p><p>At last, they emerged from the swamps to the sight of a small, stilted hut, no larger overall than an average aravel, with a grey-haired old woman waiting patiently, evidently for them, in front. </p><p>“Greetings, Mother,” Morrigan announced, once they were nearly upon the old woman. “I bring before you a… band of Grey Wardens, who—”</p><p>“I see them, girl,” her mother interrupted, before turning to examine the seven who followed her. “Hm. More than I expected, but that can only be for the better—or so I hope.”</p><p>“What’s that mean, more?” Alistair asked, half suspicious and half incredulous. “And are we really supposed to believe you were expecting us?”</p><p>“You are required to do nothing,” Morrigan’s mother replied, almost humorously, “least of all <em> believe</em>. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide… either way, one’s a fool!” <em> No path is darker than when your eyes are shut</em>, Lyna thought, wondering why the old proverb would occur to her then, out of nowhere.</p><p>“She’s a witch, I tell you!” Daveth hissed, “We shouldn’t be talking to her!”</p><p>“Quiet, Daveth!” Jory whispered loudly back, before Julian—or Lyna—could cuff the thief. “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”</p><p>“There’s a smart lad,” Morrigan’s mother praised ironically, seemingly amused rather than offended at the scene before her. “Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.”</p><p>She moved forward, her suddenly unnerving gaze fastening, as Morrigan’s had earlier, on Julian. “And what of you? Born between worlds, do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?”</p><p>The mage paused before answering, fixing the elderly wilds witch—for so she had to be, if she and her daughter, herself clearly a trained mage, lived so entirely isolated as this—with an evaluating gaze of his own, before tilting his head to the side as he replied, “I do not know what to believe. But your daughter… <em> implied </em> you might help us.”</p><p>“A statement that <em> implies </em> more wisdom than it appears,” the old woman chuckled approvingly. “And you, girl?” She turned to Elissa, who startled, apparently having expected to remain in the background. </p><p>“I—I don’t know,” she answered, adding, “Many legends have a grain of truth—little more, often, but I would not want to press you, nor expect an answer you haven’t offered.”</p><p>“A perceptive girl,” the witch smiled, “and respectful, as well! Be always aware—or is it oblivious? I can never remember.” She paused studying the group, before adding, almost to herself, “So much about you is uncertain, and yet I believe… do I? Why yes, it seems I do!”</p><p>“So… this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair asked under his breath, unsure what to make of the palpably powerful and yet almost seemingly harmless old woman. The witch in question laughed in reply.</p><p>“Witch of the Wilds?” she scoffed. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales. Oh,  how she dances under the moon!” She cackled maternally—a sound Lyna hadn’t realized existed, and which helped distract her from the thought of Morrigan attempting to inspire envy in the trees.</p><p>“They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother,” the witch in question protested, and her mother assented with another laugh as she turned to a chest by the outer wall of the house.</p><p>“True,” she noted, rummaging through the box, “they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking,” she added, speaking toward the male warriors as she held out the scrolls to Julian, “your precious seals wore off long ago. I have protected these.”</p><p>“You—” Alistair began angrily, cutting himself off as he processed her words. “Oh. You… protected them?”</p><p>“Well, the seals <em> did </em> wear off, as I said,” Julian reminded him, “and the treaties are right here, hardly aged at all. What else could have produced this result?”</p><p>“And why not?” the old witch added sternly. “Take these to your Grey Wardens, and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”</p><p>Julian bowed slightly and thanked her, and she laughed again. “Manners! Always in the last place you look—like stockings!”</p><p>“If I may,” Elissa added, edging forward and raising the curious point the old woman had introduced with her warning, “What do you mean, ‘greater than they realize’?”</p><p>The old woman laughed uproariously, and exclaimed, “Why, either the threat is greater, or they realize less! Or perhaps the threat is nothing—or perhaps they realize nothing! Ha-ha!” But calming in an instant, she shook her head and concluded, “Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!”</p><p>“Time for you to go, then,” Morrigan instructed, but her mother turned to her with a look of theatrical disappointment.</p><p>“Do not be ridiculous, girl,” she scolded, “These are your <em> guests</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, very well” the younger witch sighed dramatically, reminding Lyna of a young hunter being reminded to clean properly, or not to skimp on some tedious but essential bit of maintenance with her weapons. “I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”</p><p>Despite Morrigan’s tone, the glance she cast at Julian as she strode past the Wardens made Lyna suspect that guiding their party was not <em> entirely </em> the burden she pretended it was. Certainly, the elf admitted internally, there was nothing unpleasant at all about walking behind Morrigan herself—if only she were more than only one of the countless others the Wardens were sentenced to meet by chance and never see again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title note:<br/>"No need to be afraid there— / There's something in the glade there," from the "Prologue" of Into the Woods.</p><p>Posting this a day early because I lost track of alternate weekends, so I'm uncertain whether it's also a week late. The publication date function is terrible, bleh.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Last Rites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the hours it had taken to find the ruins of the Warden tower, and the long walk back escorted by Morrigan, the band of recruits returned to the army camp by late afternoon. Before returning to Duncan, Julian went with Daveth and Kallian to sell their scavenged gear and trinkets, while Lyna and Elissa returned to the mabari kennels.</p><p>“Hail,” the hound-master greeted them, half-turning from where he leaned against the fence of the sick dog’s pen. “She’s stable for now, but without that flower there’s not much I can do for her.”</p><p>Lyna smiled as she withdrew the white-and-red blossoms she’d picked along their winding path through the Wilds. “The Grey Wardens offered me a cure,” she said, holding out the flowers, “I could hardly refuse to do the same for another living creature.”</p><p>The hound-master’s tired face broke into a smile as he accepted the blossoms. “That’s perfect. I’m not certain this will do the trick, but should work. In fact, why don’t you come back after the battle, and we can see about imprinting him on you.”</p><p>“I—on me?” Lyna asked, surprised despite herself. “That would be incredible, thank you. I’ll come see you tomorrow, then.”</p><p>“Best of luck in the fight, Grey Wardens,” the hound-master nodded and turned back to his charges, and the two Warden-recruits went to rejoin their companions.</p><p>They met Julian and the Denerim knaves halfway, the mage grinning broadly as they approached.</p><p>“Look at this,” he exulted, twirling a faded coin in his hand, “I’ve got a silver! Well,” he shrugged, “it’s Kallian’s, really, but she said—”</p><p>“It’s yours, Jules,” Kallian interrupted. “Daveth and I stripped the bodies, but you made the fighting a whole lot easier. Anyhow, you’ve got your first coin and it looks like these two have handled their mission of mercy, so why don’t we get back to Duncan with the goods?”</p><p>“This way, then,” Alistair spoke up, and Julian slipped his coin into his carrying pouch as they headed back to the Grey Wardens’ compound. </p><p>Duncan was still standing by his fire, or had returned there to wait for them when he guessed they would be back soon, and turned to receive them as they drew near. “So, you return from the Wilds,” observed expectantly. “Have you been successful?”</p><p>“We have,” Elissa affirmed, raising the vials and gesturing to the scrolls that Julian carried.</p><p>“Good,” the Warden-Commander declared, “I’ve had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you’ve retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately.” </p><p>Julian’s expression tightened contemplatively, but he shook his head, dismissing the thought, and stepped forward, offering the treaties to Duncan. </p><p>“We met an old woman in the swamps,” he added, “a mage, I think. She protected the treaties after the seals on their container wore off, and returned them to us. She told us to tell you that ‘this Blight’s threat is greater than you realize’.”</p><p>“I see,” Duncan replied neutrally, though he made no move to take the scrolls, “and did she elaborate on what she meant by that?”</p><p>Julian shook his head. “She only said, ‘The threat is greater, or they realize less.’ That was… generally how she talked. I doubt she was truly mad, but she was certainly strange.”</p><p>“Then we will have to consider her words another time,” Duncan said. “For now, unless you have urgent questions, we must proceed with the Joining.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose you’d let us know <em> now </em> what it’s about,” Kallian asked wryly.</p><p>“I will not lie,” Duncan responded, “We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”</p><p>“You said it could cure me,” Lyna spoke up, suddenly angry. “Now you’re saying it could kill us?”</p><p>“For you, it can be a cure,” the Warden answered levelly. “However, not everyone survives the Joining. That is why its nature is so secret. Those of you here I have chosen because I believe you have what is necessary—but there are no guarantees.”</p><p>“Well, then I suppose we should get to it,” Lyna sighed, deflating. Daveth shared his assent as well, while Julian, Kallian, and Elissa merely nodded.</p><p>“I agree,” Jory added, sounding uncharacteristically bold. “Let’s have it done.”</p><p>“Then let us begin,” Duncan intoned solemnly. “Alistair, take them to the old temple.”</p><p>The junior Warden waved his arm, and the six recruits fell quietly in behind them as he led them toward the edge of the camp.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They followed Alistair to an abandoned side tower, evidently built as a temple by the Tevinters, just beyond sight of the regular camp. Dilapidated columns stood in a circle around a mostly-intact stone floor; the fading light through the gathering clouds cast the place in an ominous twilight grey.</p><p>“The more I learn about this Joining, the less I like it,” Jory groused as they gathered to wait for Duncan. “Why all these tests? Have I not earned my place?”</p><p>“Maybe it’s tradition,” Daveth shrugged, adding sarcastically, “Maybe they’re just trying to annoy you.”</p><p>“You can’t honestly have expected that they would just hand us all medallions and that would be it?” Julian asked, irritated by the greatsword-toting knight’s near-constant fearfulness. “The Grey Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. That’s no simple magic, and I doubt it’s pleasant, either, if they keep it such a carefully guarded secret.”</p><p>“And speaking of immunity to the taint,” Lyna cut in, “would you kindly quit your moaning? You sound like a child pestering the Keeper for his vallaslin, only to cry out as soon as the needle touches his skin.” </p><p>“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Jory replied, taken aback. “I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had <em> warned </em> me—it just doesn’t seem fair.”</p><p>“What was your wife doing in Highever?” Elissa asked, concerned. “I thought Duncan said you came from Redcliffe.”</p><p>“I am! She has a cousin there,” Jory explained, “a midwife. Adora wanted her to help when it came time for the birth, and with me going off to join the Wardens—only I didn’t expect anything like this!”</p><p>“Would you have come if they’d warned you?” Daveth asked, his tone oddly penetrating. “Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?”</p><p>“Including <em> sacrificing </em> us?” Jory cried.</p><p>“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight,” Daveth replied seriously.</p><p>“Well said,” Elissa nodded to the cutpurse, surprised at his open sense of self-sacrifice. Perhaps that explained why he had been so willing to face the darkspawn in the Wilds, yet quailed superstitiously in the face of Morrigan and her mother.</p><p>“Without someone willing to make that sacrifice, we’re all finished,” Julian added. “All I really wanted was a life outside the Circle, free of the Templars. If what I get instead is to give my life in defense of the world… well, I’d rather live. But we’ve all made our choices, and that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”</p><p>“And some of us can’t afford not to,” Lyna muttered under her breath, addressing Jory as she added, “Knowing or not, you did sign up for this. Don’t try to run from it now.”</p><p>“You saw those creatures, ser knight,” Daveth added. “Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them?” Jory stammered, and the cutpurse pressed on: “Maybe you’ll die. Maybe we’ll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn, <em> everyone </em> will die for sure. ”</p><p>Jory sighed and hung his head. “I’ve just never faced a foe that I could not engage with my blade.”</p><p>Kallian snorted. “Well, look on the bright side,” she jibed. “Live through this and maybe you’ll grow a spine. Then you can engage the darkspawn with your blade all you want.”</p><p>Jory sputtered, but before he could respond, Duncan arrived, carrying a pewter chalice that steamed with an unpleasant-smelling concoction.</p><p>“At last, we come to the Joining,” the Grey Warden intoned as he strode past them, placing the chalice on a table and turning to face them. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood… and mastered their taint.” </p><p>Jory paled. Kallian swallowed heavily, and Julian exhaled quietly and nodded to himself. </p><p>“We’re… going to drink the blood of those—those creatures?” The knight stammered fearfully. </p><p>“Called it,” Julian muttered. Kallian elbowed him sharply. Of course, he could tell even from a distance that it wasn’t pure darkspawn blood; that would be simple suicide, and he could sense the faint traces of lyrium that had been mixed with the blood and presumably some sort of herbs to temper the corruption and give the prospective Warden’s body a fighting chance.</p><p>“As the first Grey Wardens did before us,” Duncan answered Jory, ignoring the elf and mage, “as we did before you. <em> This </em> is the source of our power, and our victory.” And, Julian guessed, the root of their sacrifice.</p><p>“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint,” Alistair took up the explanation. “We can sense it in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon.”</p><p>“Then let us begin,” Elissa declared, stepping forward.</p><p>“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining,” Duncan replied—ritual words, presumably, not counting the explanation they had just given—”but they have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”</p><p>The ex-templar nodded and bowed his head, clasping his hands before him as he recited, “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And if you perish, know that your sacrifice will be remembered… and that someday, we will join you.”</p><p>A chill seemed to sweep across the ruin as he spoke, but Elissa squared her shoulders and faced Duncan with a steely look in her eye as the older Warden turned to retrieve the chalice. Seeing her expression, he nodded solemnly and commanded, “Elissa, step forward.”</p><p>The warrior did so, accepting the chalice and raising it to her lips in a single motion. Tilting it back, she drank deeply, then handed it back to Duncan before staggering, raising one hand to her stomach and another to her throat as she fell to her knees, then down to her side. Julian muttered a curse as a glowing white film covered her eyes, and she let out a pained cry, one arm reaching out at nothing, and then collapsed.</p><p>In a moment, Alistair was kneeling at her side, maneuvering her onto her back and pressing one hand gently to the side of her neck. There was a heavy pause, and he looked to Duncan and nodded. </p><p>“She lives.” Duncan simply nodded in return, then faced the others.</p><p>“Daveth,” he commanded, “step forward.”</p><p>The noble thief stood forward and accepted the chalice, drinking deeply just as Elissa had done, and handing the chalice back before he began to stagger. This time, though, the groans began earlier, and the convulsions were more continuous and severe, and when he finally lay still, it was in death.</p><p>“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan murmured, before calling on Jory.</p><p>Yet the knight’s resolve, if it had been fortified by his earlier chastisement, had crumbled at the sight of Daveth’s death. “But—I have a wife, a child,” he stammered, drawing his greatsword as he backed away. “Had I known—”</p><p>“There is no turning back,” the Warden insisted darkly, placing the chalice on the table and stalking toward the knight. </p><p>“No! You ask too much!” Jory cried, as he neared one of the columns, his voice shaking and his eyes locked on Duncan as the Warden drew near. “There is no glory in this!”</p><p>Duncan said no more, only drawings his curved short sword and moving in for the kill. The knight swung wildly in desperation, but the Grey Warden parried the blow with ease, then knocked the loosely held greatsword aside and stepped close against Jory’s chest, plunging the smallsword through his heart. </p><p>“I am sorry,” he murmured, and withdrew his blade. Jory cried out as blood gushed from the wound, and Duncan stood back, allowing the knight to collapse to the floor of the ruin and expire with a groan. “But the Joining is not yet complete.”</p><p>He laid his bloody sword on the table and took up the chalice again, pinning Julian with a heavy look as he continued, “You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden.”</p><p>Julian swallowed heavily and nodded as he accepted the chalice, casting a glance at Daveth and Jory’s corpses, then at Elissa’s unconscious form, and finally locking eyes with Kallian before he tilted the chalice back and swallowed the filthy potion.</p><p>It tasted worse than he could have imagined, bitter and sour and vile in ways he couldn’t think of words for, in part because he was soon distracted by the awful, infectious burn as the potion slid down his throat, inflaming tissue and roiling in his stomach. His vision flared, his knees hit stone, and everything went black.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Kallian awoke to see Duncan and Alistair leaning over her, the vision of a massive dragon, grotesquely distorted with the darkspawn taint, still echoing in her mind. Julian and Elissa were there as well, though they waited back a few steps until she had come to her feet.</p><p>“How are you, Kal?” Julian asked quietly, looking still shaken himself. “I think I preferred my Harrowing.”</p><p>“Hah,” Kallian managed, her throat still dry. “That was certainly harrowing.”</p><p>“I will explain the dreams in a moment,” Duncan promised. “Lyna is about to awaken, as well.”</p><p>They quickly gathered around the Dalish girl as she groaned, attempted to right herself, and opened her eyes.</p><p>“<em>Mythal’enaste</em>,” she moaned, raising a hand to her head. Then she blinked, focusing past them. “Creators, how long have I been asleep?”</p><p>Kallian’s gaze flicked skyward, and she realized it had grown considerably darker since she had lost consciousness. For Lyna, she supposed, it might be more alarming, given the circumstances involved when the Taint had knocked her out the last time.</p><p>“It takes some time for the body to adjust after the Joining,” Duncan answered, apparently back to his usual cryptic ways. “The dreams you all experienced come when you begin to sense the darkspawn. That, and many other things, can be explained in the months to come.”</p><p>“Before I forget,” Alistair added, holding up several pendant vials filled with dark liquid, “there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant: something to remind us of those who didn’t make it this far.”</p><p>They each accepted a pendant, Julian noting that they were enchanted with quiet approval, and slipped them on. </p><p>“Take some time to recover,” Duncan instructed, “and then I would like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king. It will be to the west, in the remains of the great hall. Please attend as soon as you are able.” He bowed and departed, leaving the cabal of junior Wardens on their own.</p><p>“My condolences for Jory and Daveth,” Alistair sighed once they were alone. “In my Joining only one person died, but… it was horrible. At least we have the four of you.”</p><p>“I’m still not sure what happened to Jory,” Elissa said. “Julian said something earlier, but—”</p><p>“He tried to back out after Daveth died, and Duncan ran him through,” Kallian told her. “Technically Jory drew first, but an elven toddler could’ve taken him apart the way he was shaking.” She shook her head and added, “Honestly, what did Duncan even see in him? He was a whiny coward with an actual life, what in the Maker’s name was he doing with the likes of us?”</p><p>“The likes of you?” Alistair asked, confused. It was a decent look on him, Kallian thought.</p><p>Julian laughed. “Misfits of strong convictions with nothing left to lose.”</p><p>“Come on,” Lyna added, retrieving her bow and quiver from where she’d placed them before taking her draught from the chalice. “Let’s get to this meeting with your gilded king.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mythal'enaste — "Mythal's favor," an expression that seemed appropriate as a reaction to waking from one's first darkspawn dream.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Battle of Ostagar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They found Duncan with the king in last-minute open council, standing before a large table at the inner end of the hall where they had first met Alistair. Several other knights and lords stood around the table, with a few mages and a woman in Chantry robes slightly to the side.</p><p>“That’s Teyrn Loghain!” Elissa whispered sharply. “I named my <em> mabari </em> after him!”</p><p>“You named your mabari after the Hero of—oh, that makes sense,” Alistair whispered back. “The Hero of River Dane. I figured it was just for the hero of legend.”</p><p>The junior Wardens quieted as they drew near the table, where the legendary teyrn, who looked almost like a steel golem in his massive, grey plate armor, was in heated argument with his king. </p><p>“I must again protest your <em> fool </em> notion that we need the <em> Orlesians </em> to defend ourselves!” he cried. King Cailan frowned and thumped the table in reply.</p><p>“It is not a fool notion,” he insisted. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past—and you will remember who is king.”</p><p>“How <em> fortunate</em>,” Loghain groused, raising an armored hand to his brow, “that <em> Maric </em> did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who <em> enslaved </em> us for a century!”</p><p>“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan rejoined, so undisturbed by the teyrn’s insult that it seemed he had actually intended to provoke it. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”</p><p>“They are, Your Majesty,” the Warden-Commander bowed his head solemnly. </p><p>The king smiled brilliantly before turning to the rest of them. “And these are the recruits I met on the road earlier? I understand congratulations are in order.”</p><p>“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Elissa said, bowing; Julian and Kallian mirrored her, while Lyna simply nodded. Elissa looked to the hero of the Orlesian war and added, “Teyrn Loghain. It is an honor to fight beside you, and a moment I am sure my father would have been proud to see.”</p><p>“I have not forgotten my promise, Lady Elissa,” Cailan assured her. “Rendon will pay for his crimes as soon as we are done here.”</p><p>“In the meantime,” Loghain pressed, frowning as he acknowledged Elissa with a brief nod, “we must attend to our present situation.” Though clearly dissatisfied with the plan itself, the teyrn laid out their strategy—a straightforward bait and flanking maneuver—and his responsibility for the signal fire, which was to be lit at the top of the Tower of Ishal.</p><p>“Lighting the signal will be vital,” Cailan assessed, “so we should send our best. Send Alistair and a pair of the new Grey Wardens to ensure it’s done.”</p><p>“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much,” Loghain protested. “Is that truly wise?”</p><p>“We are all capable fighters, your lordship,” Elissa rebutted, “and Enchanter Surana holds the record for the fastest Harrowing in the history of Kinloch Hold. As new Wardens, we are too few to make a difference in the battle line, but you may rely on us to reinforce your men.”</p><p>“Your Majesty,” Duncan added, “You should also consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing.”</p><p>“There have been no reports of any dragons appearing in the Wilds,” Loghain insisted, and Elissa frowned at his apparent failure to realize that without the archdemon’s arrival, Ostagar would continue to be merely a holding action, one that would grow more costly until the only hope for Ferelden would be the very Orlesian and other foreign armies he had so strongly railed against.</p><p>“Isn’t that what your men are here for, Duncan?” Cailan asked, with the confident smile of a man who knew that, by his authority and the character of his allies, everything would always go exactly as he wished.</p><p>“I… yes, Your Majesty,” Duncan sighed in defeat. If the archdemon showed, it seemed the king would have his glorious charge—and, most likely, his glorious death. At least, Elissa supposed, he had already shared his plans for handling Rendon Howe with the Hero of River Dane.</p><p>At which point the lead mage—Senior Enchanter Uldred, Julian recognized—spoke up, his wheedling voice lending irritation to his sensible declaration that the Tower and beacon were unnecessary given the presence of the contingent from the Circle.</p><p>“We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!” the Revered Mother shut him down with all the grace of a lyrium-addled templar. “Save them for the darkspawn!”</p><p>“Are you sure I can’t light her on fire,” Julian whispered to Elissa, “even just a little bit?”</p><p>“Behave,” she whispered back, as the king and Loghain adjourned the council—Cailan, almost giddy with anticipation for the coming battle; Loghain, dour and darkened with his sense of gloom.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Elissa was perfectly happy to be playing a key role in a battle devised by the Hero of River Dane—especially since it gave her better than average odds of living to see Rendon Howe’s head mounted on a pike—but Alistair was decidedly less enthused.</p><p>“This is by the king’s personal request,” Duncan reminded him. “If the beacon isn’t lit at the correct time, Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”</p><p>“So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch?” Alistair frowned. </p><p>“We <em> are </em> the least experienced fighters here, compared to those who will be on the front lines,” Julian pointed out. “I’ve been in exactly one fight before today, and I don’t think any of us have taken part in large-scale battles. But we <em> do </em> know each other, and we are Wardens. With three of us together, the Tower will be the most secure place on the battlefield—as it should be, for this plan to succeed.”</p><p>“For that matter, who’s going up the tower?” Lyna asked, fingering her bow. “Probably shouldn’t be me; I’m not bad in close quarters, but the rest of you are better.”</p><p>Duncan nodded, accepting her point, and answered, “If we are to send three of you, I believe Julian and Kallian should accompany Alistair. Lyna, Elissa, I have a… special assignment for you, which I will detail in a moment. Are the three of you clear what must be done?”</p><p>“How will we know when to light the fire?” Julian asked, adjusting his grip on his staff. </p><p>“Alistair will know what to look for,” Duncan assured him. This seemed to be news to Alistair, but something appeared to occur to him and he nodded in acceptance.</p><p>“Can we join the battle after we light the signal?” he asked, hopefully. Duncan shook his head.</p><p>“Stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower,” he ordered. “If you are needed, we will send word. Elissa, Lyna, take the treaties and observe the battle from a distance. If something goes wrong with the battle plan, or you fall under attack yourselves, retreat to Lothering and wait for word. If the worst happens, you will have what is needed to organize resistance while more Grey Wardens arrive.”</p><p>“Fall back?” Elissa asked, stunned. “I thought you needed every Warden you could get.”</p><p>“And two more will not be enough,” Duncan looked at her severely. “Tonight’s battle will see the largest horde yet, and all but the five of you will be on the front lines, by the king’s command. Our abilities will avail us comparatively little, and should anything go wrong, you must be prepared to do what is necessary. Is that understood?”</p><p>Elissa sighed, then took a deep breath and nodded. For her parents’ honor, and for Ferelden, she could stand aside from one more battle, just in case the king’s plan went awry. “I understand.”</p><p>Lyna nodded as well and moved to stand beside and behind her, as if preparing to stand in the lee of her shield. “And… if the archdemon does appear?”</p><p>“We soil our drawers, that’s what,” Alistair muttered; clearly six months as a Warden was not enough to inure one to the concept of fighting a tainted high dragon.</p><p>“If it does, leave it to us,” Duncaon ordered firmly. “I want no heroics from any of you. Elissa, Lyna, you should go now and circle past the Tower of Ishal, so that you are overlooking the valley and the plain, with as many escape routes as possible. Julian, Alistair, Kallian, the three of you may take what time we have left to prepare, but you should be ready soon—once I leave, you will have less than an hour.”</p><p>“Well. In that case, I think we’re all ready,” Julian said, and the others added their affirmations.</p><p>“Excellent,” the Warden-Commander nodded. “Alistair, take your companions by the Warden armory and see if we have anything that will fit Kallian better or provide Julian some protection. Rock armor and Fade shields,” he added with a look at the mage, “last only so long as you have strength and concentration to maintain them. Be careful.”</p><p>“We will be,” Julian vowed, and Duncan dismissed them.</p><p>“Duncan,” Alistair added before they departed, “Maker watch over you.”</p><p>“May He watch over us all,” the older Warden returned, as solemn as they had ever seen him.</p><p>Elissa looked to Lyna, who nodded in silent agreement, and as their friends headed for the armory, they turned toward the Tower of Ishal, ancient treaties in hand, to watch over the battle from afar.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Alistair led his compatriots to a tent at the back of the Warden compound, one tall enough to stand up in but bare save for a few chests and mostly empty weapon stands. Kallian traded her dagger for a new one—she still had the shortsword Duncan had given Soris to lend her, but the dagger she’d stolen from Urien’s man was of lesser work than these—and handed another to Julian, who took it with a silent nod. The chances were slim that it would avail him that night, but he had learned the basics of holding a blade on the way to Ostagar, so it was nonetheless possible that it might save his life if his mana ran dry.</p><p>“We aren’t exactly a surplus emporium,” Alistair noted as he surfaced from a chest, gauntlets and boots loading down his arms, “but we do have a few pieces that might help. Kallian—right?” She nodded, and he continued, “Your cuirass looks like it fits you as well as anything we might have, but something for your arms and legs should help, too. Unfortunately,” he added to Julian, “We’ve got no other mages, so we haven’t been able to acquire armor you’d find particularly useful. But, again, shoes and gloves, and if you strap some leather on over your robes that will help a little, right?”</p><p>They accepted the offered gear from the no-longer-junior Warden, and Kallian set about armoring herself and showing Julian how to secure the hardened leather about his forearms while Alistair rummaged for an appropriate chest piece. </p><p>“This should do,” he returned, holding a simple, unmarked leather cuirass designed to fit over the torso and shoulders and allow a freedom of movement that, he judged, would allow it to fit over the mage’s robes without being unduly encumbering. Julian lifted the armor over his head and slipped it on, and with Kallian’s help fastened the buckles at the sides in only a moment; the visual effect was that the lower part of his robes flared more easily, and with the dagger now at his side and staff in hand, he resembled a battle-mage of ages past. Alistair shivered at the comparison, looked the newbies over again to ensure that all was well, and led them on their way.</p><p>As they crossed paths with the route from the mages’ subcamp to the promontory overlooking the field between Ostagar itself and the forest of the Wilds, they found themselves accosted by another familiar mage.</p><p>“Jules! And it was Kallian, right?” Solona Amell looked even more impressive arrayed for battle than she had before, her robes straightened and a staff in her hand, already humming with a thread of building power. “It’s good to see you both again.”</p><p>“And you, Sol,” Julian smiled broadly, relieved by the sight of his closest friend after his functional second Harrowing. “Can’t talk long, though: we’re heading across the valley to support Loghain’s men holding the Tower of Ishal, making sure they can signal Loghain for the flanking charge.”</p><p>“Best be on your way, then,” Solona said, embracing him briefly. “The rest of us are getting into position now; they say it’ll only be an hour or so until the darkspawn make their essay.”</p><p>Julian returned the embrace and kissed her hand. “Then we’ll see you on the other side,” he promised. “Be careful out there; I don’t think anyone at the war council but Uldred knew what magic really is. Don’t let them put you between the darkspawn and the Templars or anything like that.”</p><p>“We’ll be fine,” Solona smiled reassuringly. “The Revered Mother insisted we be kept away from the battle, so we’ll still be in the fortress ruins, raining disaster on the darkspawn middle. You’ll be in more danger holding a critical position.”</p><p>“Then let’s both of us be careful,” he replied. “<em>Vitae benefaria, vhenan.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Var enasalin, amatus</em>,” she answered, smirking. She squeezed his hand firmly for a moment, then stepped back, nodded to the Wardens, and turned to join the rest of the mages.</p><p>“Alright, let’s hurry,” Alistair urged, and they increased their pace as they headed for the edge of the camp. </p><p>Rain began to fall as they reached the bridge, while down below the bulk of the army formed up in the valley between the two halves of the fortress. Farther off, torches burned in the swamp forests, so many that it looked as if the Wilds were ablaze. A hymn in old Alamarri echoed faintly up to the bridge as a priestess walked along the front infantry line. </p><p>“Well, the king is certainly taking full advantage of his armor’s visibility,” Kallian observed, pointing out the shining gilded figure seated astride what must have been the only horse in Ferelden equal to the weight of so much steel—unless, she supposed, Loghain mac Tir was also mounted for the battle. The horse itself was armored just as heavily, while the king bore a massive greatsword across his back, and wore a gleaming targe at his side.</p><p>“And you can see Duncan beside him!” Alistair pointed out. The Grey Warden was indeed mounted beside the king, his more lightly-armored mount wavering to and fro, a simpler long spear glinting through the rain. There were several other Wardens beside the king, as well, while others presumably were with the infantry; behind the cavalry, halberds, pikes and poleaxes waved above the heads of men armed with axes and swords of various designs. </p><p>Then, as the Wardens above looked on at the soldiers below, the first rank of the darkspawn emerged from the Wilds. The visible horde—genlocks and hurlocks, with what could only be ogres standing here and there among them—was already as massive as the army that opposed it, and it was clear there were many more darkspawn still waiting among the trees. </p><p>A ripple of fear passed through the Fereldan ranks, but the officers held their soldiers fast, and with a blood-curdling roar, the darkspawn charged. A volley of flaming arrows soared over the assembled human army, followed by the baying of the mabari hounds—and then King Cailan drew his sword, brandishing it high in the air, and led the charge in response.</p><p>“Come on, let’s move!” Julian shook himself out of his stunned stasis, tugging Kallian by the hand, and started across the bridge. <em> “Fenedhis!” </em></p><p>The last exclamation came as a volley of flaming boulders came soaring over the battlefield to crash against the stones of the fortress and the bridge with explosive force. Quickly casting a barrier over himself and his companions, Julian forced himself to ignore the supplementary archers and artillery soldiers as they scrambled beneath the assault, instead focusing on making their way safely across the bridge to the Tower.</p><p>When they reached that goal, however, they learned that the battle had already spiraled out of control: The darkspawn, rather than simply massing in the valley to fill King Cailan’s trap, had found some secret passage and overrun the Tower of Ishal.</p><p>A pair of Loghain’s men, fleeing the overrun structure, met them at the entrance to the inner yard, and as Kallian disappeared into the shadows, the desperate soldiers joined with Alistair to form a wall of shields and blades, pressing the darkspawn and protecting Julian as he called down frost and fire. A half-dozen genlocks had taken up positions on scaffolds to loose arrows down on them while more genlocks and hurlocks armed with axes and swords rushed to engage them hand-to-hand, but Julian made the platforms burst into flame and splinters beneath the archers, and Kallian slipped to and fro through the melee, using the warriors to distract the darkspawn while she ducked and wove around their blades to slash and stab at joints and blind spots, and soon enough the yard was clear.</p><p>Inside, it became even clearer that the darkspawn had known what they were doing. The great central chamber of the first floor was a maze of flaming barricades, and Kallian just shouted a warning before Alistair’s leg would have struck a tripwire; a precise cut with her dagger severed the line instead, and they moved forward to the darkspawn waiting across the hall. A genlock emissary was among them, and Julian quickly focused his efforts on the diminutive mage—a bolt of lightning to stun, then a coat of ice and fists of stone to keep it immobilized and off-balance while he burned it to death—while Kallian and the shieldbearers moved against and cut down the rest of the darkspawn.</p><p>There were yet more in the rooms along the outside of the tower leading to the stairs. Alistair and the teyrn’s men took the lead, as Kallian hung back until an opening could be forced, while Julian restricted himself to slowing the creatures with frost, preferring to regain his mana as the opportunity arose. Once the barracks were clear, they checked the few chests the darkspawn had left intact, retrieving a handful of healing potions and a silver bracelet that Kallian discreetly slipped into her pouch.</p><p>“Well, I suppose we know how they got in,” she observed dryly in the next room, once the resident genlocks had been dispatched, looking at the gaping pit in the floor.</p><p>“Looking at this,” Julian noted, “I’m surprised they don’t tunnel into places more often. It’s not the sort of thing you expect, somehow, even from creatures known for tunneling beneath the Deep Roads in search of ancient dragons.”</p><p>“What I don’t understand,” Alistair complained as they reached the stairs, “is all these darkspawn are doing ahead of the rest of the horde. There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!”<br/>
“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” Julian quipped, putting his back into the door.</p><p>“Right, because clearly this is all a misunderstanding,” Alistair shot back. “We’ll laugh about this later. At any rate, we need to hurry. We need to get to the top and light the beacon in time—Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for the signal.”</p><p>The central chamber on the second floor was empty, at least of darkspawn, though smashed crates, dismembered corpses, and grotesque totems circled a fire in the center of the room, and they worked their way cautiously around the edges, wary for any additional traps, though they found only a few strands of elfroot that Julian pocketed.</p><p>Two smaller storage rooms divided the center chamber from the outer, each with a pair of darkspawn who fell easily five-on-two. The outer hall itself, however, held several hurlocks and an equal number of genlock archers, and Julian caught the charging hurlocks in a more powerful blast of frost before focusing on the archers, drawing their attention and shielding the warriors as they hacked away at the encumbered, frostbitten hurlocks, and Kallian stole along the edge of the room and cut the archers down from behind.</p><p>“Loghain had better be ready to charge as soon as we light that signal,” Alistair observed as he threw open the door to the next floor. </p><p>“I thought we were making good time,” Kallian questioned.</p><p>“Good time for this many darkspawn,” he answered, “but it took us some time to get over here, and I don’t know how long the army will last in the open field without Loghain’s help.”</p><p>With that, he threw open the upper door, revealing a similar scene to the one below: around and amid a series of decorative stone pillars, the same piled, bloody wreckage indicated that the darkspawn had done their work. In the outer hall, another swarm of genlocks accosted them, plunging through Julian’s gouts of frost and flame while Kallian slipped to the side and released a pack of mabari—why they hadn’t been in battle with their fellows, she couldn’t guess, but they fought well—and even clearing the rest of the rooms along the hall, which also yielded several abandoned poultices and potions, took only minutes.</p><p>That confidence evaporated when they reached the top of the final flight of stairs, and beheld a monster that should not, as far as she could tell, have even been able to get up to the top of the tower in the first place.</p><p>The ogre heard their ascent—or, more likely, the clattering of the warriors’ plates and mail—and spat out the remains of the unfortunate soldier it had been eating, then turned to face them with a spittle-filled roar.</p><p>Julian slammed his staff against the ground and a thick coating of rime formed across the ogre’s skin, but the beast showed no sign of inconvenience as it charged into the shieldbearers as they took up positions. The mage blasted it with lightning next, pausing to heal the tower guard who had been hit directly by the ogre while Alistair and the second soldier tried to find a spot to strike without being crushed by its massive hands.</p><p>The former Templar candidate sank his blade into the ogre’s thigh, only to be batted aside, and Julian filled the opening with a gout of fire. The remaining ice turned to steam on the ogre’s skin, and it bellowed in pain—and then, as Alistair regained his feet and bellowed a challenge of his own, Kallian leapt up onto its back, her dagger acting as a handhold with which she swung herself another half a foot higher to plunge her shortsword into the unprotected back of the monster’s neck and, with a subtle pull from Julian to ensure it fell the proper way, rode it to the ground.</p><p>“Whew,” she said, pulling her blades from the ogre’s back as she stood. “Alright, once again. Darkspawn blood? Gross. Julian, you should probably wave your hand at the signal fire; if we’re supposed to hold this tower, I’m going to look and see if there’s anything else useful left up here.”</p><p>Julian nodded and crouched before the fireplace, and a moment later the prepared wood burst into a roaring blaze. </p><p>“Hey, Alistair,” Kallian called, “There’s a pretty nice shield here, yours looked like it got a bit banged up downstairs.”</p><p>“What? Oh, thanks,” the warrior nodded, accepting the well-made wooden shield. “This looks like it’s enchanted, too; it should hold up a lot better than my old one. Whoever it belonged to obviously doesn’t need it anymore.”</p><p>“Hold on a minute, what’s going on out there?” Julian was still standing next to the hearth, looking out the window at the battle below. “Where’s he—”</p><p>His next word was cut off by an arrow that struck him in the back of the shoulder, and the Wardens and soldiers whirled to see another surprise contingent of darkspawn that had followed them up the stairs. As Julian turned and tried to raise his staff, another arrow caught him in the opposite shoulder, and a third in the chest; he saw Kallian fall next to Alistair and one of the tower guards collapse with an arrow through his neck, and then everything went dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On Julian and Solona's Portrait of the Artist-style farewells:<br/>Vitae benefaria — Tevene, a farewell that looks to mean roughly "Be well."<br/>Vhenan — Elven, lit. "heart," i.e. "(my) love."<br/>Var enasalin — Elven, "the way of victory," i.e. "let's win this" (in Circle mage usage, that is)<br/>Amatus — Tevene, a fond form of address</p><p>The rationale for splitting the party is borrowed from a fic I read some time ago, but have since lost track of.<br/>Julian's battle dress is supposed to look a bit like Revan, only more colorful and with his face showing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Survivors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elissa tried not to pace beneath the trees, but the endless tide of darkspawn swarming out of the Wilds made it difficult. Cailan and Duncan had both abandoned their mounts, or been forced to, and the ranks of pikemen and men-at-arms were growing steadily thinner around them, and yet no fire had been lit atop the Tower of Ishal, nor had Loghain, whose forces she could see arrayed on the less foliaged opposite hill, decided to exercise his own discretion and come to the aid of his king.</p><p>“Something must have gone wrong in the Tower,” Lyna muttered, glancing nervously between the ruins and the battlefield. The horde was a palpable presence now, after the Joining, but even small groups were still too indistinct to make out at any distance. “The others will make it through.”</p><p>“Soon, I hope,” Elissa replied, “or the battle will go very badly unless Loghain takes the initiative. He was reluctant enough to send Wardens up the tower at all, he must have a plan in case it were to be taken.”</p><p>“Or struck by one of those flaming catapults,” Lyna noted. The darkspawn siege engines had destroyed an older, more dilapidated tower in the first volley, and knocked down smaller structures around the area. The Tower of Ishal was sturdier, but nothing was invincible. </p><p>Elissa shook her head, as if to dispel that possibility. Dane growled quietly, and she looked again at the tower before returning her gaze to the battle, schooling her expression and emotions into passive focus. “Have you figured out how we can get out of here if we have to?”</p><p>“Down the ridge and through the forest,” Lyna suggested. “We’ll have to just skirt the edge of the horde, but as long as we’re careful they should leave us alone. Then we can circle east and turn back to the Highway, Might be two days to Lothering, all told.”</p><p>“All right,” Elissa nodded. “Just in case. Any minute now, surely—”</p><p>A sudden light flared above them, and the two Wardens looked up to see the signal fire blazing atop the Tower of Ishal. Elissa’s heart leapt: Finally, the moment had come for Loghain to ride to his king’s rescue once again… but no war cry echoed across the valley, and instead of a valiant charge to the aid of the king and the Grey Wardens, they saw Teyrn Loghain, daring hero of the Orlesian war and the closest friend King Maric had ever known, leading his forces north, away from the battle.</p><p>“What—what is he doing?” Elissa stared at the retreating troops, dumbfounded. </p><p>“Committing treason, it looks like,” Lyna answered, flatly and yet audibly stunned. “What is that <em> harellan </em> planning? You don’t cure an infected wound by ripping off the bandages—leaving your king to die, letting the darkspawn take the valley… what could he possibly hope to gain?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Elissa shook her head at the departing army. “Every time I heard about Loghain, I heard how intelligent and bold he was, and how much he loved Ferelden. He was younger than you or I are now when he swore himself to Maric’s cause, to Fereldan freedom. He was… angrier, more suspicious than I expected, at the meeting, but… I cannot understand this. I can’t.”</p><p>Lyna cursed and grabbed her arm. “Well, grapple with it later, because we need to go. Duncan and the king are fallen, the army is getting cut apart down there. We have to go—and stay away from Loghain’s men, too. I doubt he’ll be happy to have witnesses.”</p><p>“I don’t—shit. You’re right,” Elissa conceded, tearing her gaze from the backs of Loghain’s men as they disappeared into the night. “Into the forest, you said? Are you certain?”</p><p>“Now more than ever,” Lyna affirmed, already moving into the trees, Dane at her heels. “We can’t head directly for the highway: that’s where Loghain’s army will be, and he’ll have us arrested as deserters at the least. The horde is concentrated in the valley for now… or should be, at least. We’ll have better luck if we go quickly.”</p><p>“What about the tower?” Elissa thought suddenly. “The others—” </p><p>“They’ve got the same view as we do,” Lyna reminded her. “They’ll make it out or they won’t, and if they do they’ll know to meet us in Lothering. We have the treaties, we need to get them out of here.”</p><p>“We can’t just abandon—”</p><p>“We <em> have to,” </em> Lyna pressed. “I don’t like it either, but I can hear darkspawn toward the ruins; if we don’t go now, we risk being cut off entirely.” </p><p>“Maker’s breath,” Elissa sighed, casting one last glance behind as she followed Lyna. “How did this happen?” </p><p>“Less talking, more silent retreating,” Lyna whispered insistently. Elissa quieted and followed the hunter’s footsteps as best she could, trusting in the Dalish elf to guide them somewhere they could live up to the ever-increasing number of debts she owed to men and women who had given their lives for her own.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Julian woke in a soft bed, a familiar woman examining a bookshelf: a raven-haired beauty with piercing golden eyes, wearing rich necklaces, dark leather, and a burgundy top that left—Oh, he realized. It was Morrigan, the wilder-witch who’d guided the Warden-recruits to her mother’s hut and the forgotten treaties. Ignoring his lingering aches, he drew his gaze back to her face and attempted to sit upright.</p><p>“Ah, your eyes finally open,” she observed, sauntering over to him. “Mother shall be pleased.”</p><p>“Well, that’s—good,” he replied, hauling himself into a sitting position as he attempted to ignore the fact that he was shirtless and she was very close to it. “I—What happened, in the battle?”</p><p>“You were injured, and then Mother rescued you,” Morrigan replied, “Do you not remember?"</p><p>He did not, and said so; she explained that her mother had rescued himself, Alistair, and Kallian from the top of the tower—apparently by assuming the form of a giant bird, which seemed like extraordinary magic but was also obviously the sort of thing the Chantry would suppress—and then brought them to her hut and healed them, and was currently outside, having asked to see Julian when he awoke.</p><p>“I will go, then. Thank you,” he nodded and turned to pull on his clothing—which, he observed, had also been expertly repaired to cover the damage from the surprise darkspawn reinforcements.</p><p>“You are welcome,” Morrigan returned crisply. “I will stay, and make something to eat.” Julian’s stomach rumbled as he finished the clasp on his belt, but he ignored it and stepped outside.</p><p>Kallian, Alistair, and Morrigan’s mother stood near the edge of the small patch of dry land that surrounded the house; he caught Kallian attempting to reassure their fellow before Morrigan’s mother pointed him out. </p><p>“Julian!” Kallian sprang forward before Alistair could respond, embracing the mage tightly. “You’re alive! Flemeth said so, of course, but… well, it looked bad. I’m not used to people recovering from half that.”</p><p>“It did hurt,” he said, returning the embrace, “but we’re alright now—thanks to you, I believe,” he added to Morrigan’s mother, “though you never told us your name.”</p><p>“Names are pretty, but useless,” she shrugged. “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do.”</p><p>Julian raised an eyebrow, not trusting his verbal reaction to the introduction. Elissa would be impressed, he thought, to learn that she had in fact spoken face-to-face with the legendary figure responsible for her own family’s ascent to their teyrnir. </p><p><em> “The </em> Flemeth, from the legends?” Alistair was not nearly so restrained, although he at least sounded impressed rather than scornful or terrified. “Daveth was right,” (there it was, Julian sighed internally), “You’re the Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you?”</p><p>“And what does that mean?” Flemeth returned sharply. “I know a bit of magic, and it has served you all well, has it not?”</p><p>“Invaluably,” Julian affirmed quickly, “and you have our deepest thanks. Though if you are the Flemeth of legend, I imagine you must be very old and very powerful indeed.”</p><p>“Must I?” She smiled wryly. “Age and power are relative—it depends on who is asking. Compared to you, yes, on both counts.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you save Duncan?” Alistair asked, despairingly. “He’s—he <em> was </em> our leader.”</p><p>“I am sorry for your Duncan,” Flemeth counseled him, surprisingly gentle and yet as firm as ever, “but your grief must come later: in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now.”</p><p>“Elissa would appreciate that, I think,” Kallian mused with a smile. “But we need to find her and Lyna, and figure out what to do now that everyone who knew how to actually fight this Blight is dead.”</p><p>“Why would Loghain do it?” Alistair groaned rhetorically, running a hand through his hair. “We were fighting the darkspawn, the battle was going well—why would he abandon the king?”</p><p>Flemeth frowned, but for once not at him. “Now that is a good question,” she said. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”</p><p>“The archdemon,” Julian spoke with a hissing sigh. He could still remember its terrible visage from his Joining dream, and Alistair’s and Duncan’s reactions to the possibility of its appearance. Soiled drawers or otherwise, though, it appeared unreasonable heroics were all they had left. “We’ll need an army to even get close—so we need to find Elissa and Lyna. They weren’t in the valley, they should have retreated to Lothering.”</p><p>“And Lothering’s not far from Redcliffe,” Alistair added. “Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar, so he still has all his men, and he was Cailan’s uncle. I know him: he’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. If we can appeal to him for help….”</p><p>“Then between his power, maybe Elissa’s, and the treaties,” Kallian concluded, “that’s an army.”</p><p>“Do you think we can do that?” Alistair asked. “Go to Redcliffe and… the dwarves and the others, and build an army?”</p><p>Julian cracked a determined smile. “It’s what Grey Wardens do, isn’t it? We had best be up to the task.”</p><p>“You are prepared, then?” Flemeth asked them, her gaze dancing over them as though she saw far more than was visible to the eye. “Ready to be Grey Wardens?”</p><p>“As we’ll ever be,” Kallian matched Julian’s expression. “Thank you for everything, Flemeth.”</p><p>“No, no, thank <em> you,” </em> the ancient witch replied. “You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. However, before you go… there is one last thing I can offer you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sky was growing lighter through the dead trees when Lyna finally decided they could rest. She was as tired as Elissa by that point, both of them having been awake since the previous dawn, traveling and fighting for much of the day, capped by the unrestful sleep of the Joining. But they were past the horde, or near enough, and there was a stream nearby that would disguise low, regular sounds like sleepers’ breathing—but not, to Lyna’s ears, the approach of any but a master huntsman.</p><p>“Thank you,” Elissa sighed as she collapsed against a tree trunk. “I was… shocked by Loghain’s retreat. I should have been able to respond better, to do what we had to, but… I suppose I am still struggling with—with what happened before. To flee again, and abandon the man who saved me before…”</p><p>“I understand,” Lyna assured her quietly, taking Elissa’s hand in hers. “To pass unnoticed is the way of the Dalish, and even so it felt wrong to run. I think of Tamlen, lying unburied somewhere, and all those we left on the field—but if I could not find Tamlen, or aid Duncan, then I will live for them. And <em> you </em> still owe that arl Howe your vengeance.”</p><p>Elissa barked a laugh. “I do, yes,” she murmured, squeezing Lyna’s hand. “Could Loghain be backing him, do you think? He knew of Howe’s crimes from Cailan, at least, but he seemed eager to move on—it could have simply been that the battle was close, but if he’s trying to seize power…”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Lyna shrugged. “I don’t know shemlen politics. My confidence that Loghain is <em> harellan </em> comes only from my view of the battle, and your stories. A man so bold would not have run from such a battle while victory was still within his grasp: thus, he must have had another victory in mind.”</p><p>“I… Maker’s balls,” Elissa muttered. “It’s still hard to believe. We both heard him criticizing the king for his overreliance on the Wardens, but to believe us liars?”</p><p>Lyna hummed in agreement and laid her head on Elissa’s shoulder. It was odd, she thought, how swiftly she had come to trust the human noblewoman, even care for her. Her well-being, rather, which only made sense: they were fellow Grey Wardens, possibly the last two in the country, and she could hardly expect to rally dwarves and Circle mages and human nobles, much less battle the archdemon, on her own. </p><p>“I don’t know,” she said, quietly, “but I’m sure you can get us through this. We can get through this,” she corrected herself, sitting upright, “and I’ll trust you to lead wherever we need to go.”</p><p>“Me?” Elissa laughed again, just as bitterly as before but more quietly. “I imagine you can scarcely trust me, why would you want me to take the lead? Anyways,” she shook her head, “there’s only two of us. Surely we don’t really need a Field-Commander for a team of two Wardens?”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Lyna shrugged, “but you know far more about the world outside of life in a Dalish clan than I do. <em> Durgen’len </em>, mages—not to mention the human nobility. You’re probably the only one who would bother looking at me, Grey Warden or no.”</p><p>“Not the only one,” Elissa protested, before acceding with a sigh, “but there are many like that, yes. Especially if the Wardens as an order have been called into question again.”</p><p>“And if they have,” Lyna pressed, moving to sit so that she was facing Elissa directly, “then you’re the one who will know how to handle it. You’re trained to lead, to—what did you say, before? To make people fight better. I can act if something needs to be done, but I’m a hunter, not a Keeper. The big picture, diplomacy, none of that is what I do. I’m here for you,” she added, moving closer, “but I would much rather do as you say than try to decide what <em> we </em> should do.”</p><p>“Alright.” Elissa smiled gently and raised her hand, and Lyna clasped it. “I won’t ask you to <em> make </em> any big decisions, unless it’s something I know nothing about—how to find the Dalish, say, and how long we might have to do that?”</p><p>“Depends on how quickly the darkspawn spread,” Lyna shrugged again. “Ferelden’s small and not easily accessible, so not many clans come here, and those that do tend to linger if they can. There may be another clan along the outskirts; if they’re deeper in the forest, it will take longer than we have to find them.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Elissa sighed. “Ugh. I need to sleep if I’m going to have strategic thoughts, though. Being a noble’s second child in a time of peace does not prepare one for staying awake until dawn.”</p><p>“I have a root in my pouch,” Lyna said, not moving, “It’ll help me stay alert a little longer. Can Dane…”</p><p>“I’m sure he’s tired, too,” Elissa said, glancing away from the elf almost on her lap to where her hound had curled up between the roots of another tree, “but he’s a light sleeper. If anything comes this way, he’ll let us know before it’s close enough to eat us.”</p><p>“Ah, good,” Lyna replied, appearing to hesitate before exhaustion stole over her features, and she turned again and laid herself in the crook of Elissa’s arm. “I hate being eaten. By monsters, that is. Oh, for—<em> Mythal </em>,” she muttered, and then she was asleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As if on cue, Morrigan descended from the hut, her attention on Flemeth in a way that reminded Julian of how he held himself around Irving. “The stew is bubbling, Mother dear,” she announced. “Shall we have three guests for the eve, or none?”</p><p>“The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl,” her mother informed her, “And you will be joining them.”</p><p><em>“Such </em> a shame—What?” Morrigan’s casually dismissive demeanor ran suddenly aground as she processed Flemeth’s declaration.</p><p>“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!” her mother cackled seriously. </p><p>“Thank you,” Julian hedged, attempting to avoid upsetting either their potential companion or the Witch of the Wilds herself, “but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us…”</p><p>“Her magic will be useful,” the old woman waved his concern aside. “Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”</p><p>Morrigan complained (reasonably, Julian thought) at having her future decided so imperiously, but Flemeth merely pointed out that she had been chafing to leave the Wilds for years, and that the Wardens could consider Morrigan’s company “repayment” for her aid. Although Julian and Kallian accepted Flemeth’s proposal, Alistair raised his concern that, once they entered Chantry-controlled civilization, Morrigan would be a liability as an apostate.</p><p>“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man,” Flemeth rebuked him, her ire cracking an eye open again, “then perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”</p><p>“Point taken,” he backed down; Julian had to admit that he did have a purely logistical point, but if they could hide one rogue mage—if Loghain slandered the Wardens to cover his tracks, his own status would be highly suspect—then surely they could disguise two. Morrigan herself was reluctant, as well, and shut down just as swiftly.</p><p>“You must be ready,” Flemeth commanded. “These three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight… even I.”</p><p>Downcast, Morrigan assented, and Flemeth turned intently back to the Grey. “Do you understand, Wardens? I give you that which I value above all in the world. I do this because you <em> must </em> succeed.”</p><p>Once again, Julian thought of Elissa, and Teyrn Bryce’s pale face as he begged Duncan to bring Elissa to safety. Joining aside, Duncan had indeed done his best to keep that promise, and they could do no less for another parent. “I understand,” he vowed, bowing, “She will come to no harm in our company.”</p><p>Morrigan’s eyes flashed, and she looked over the assembly briefly before stalking off to retrieve her bag, and returned minutes later, a small iron-clasped satchel hanging over her shoulder. “I am at your disposal, Wardens,” she announced. “I suggest a small village to the north as our first destination. ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there—or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”</p><p>“If you’re referring to Lothering,” Julian replied, “we were planning to go there already: there are two other junior Wardens Duncan had observing the battle who should have fallen back that way, carrying the treaties we’ll need. Please do speak your mind, though—I’m sure there is much you know that none of us have had a chance to learn.”</p><p>Flemeth laughed again, smiling knowingly as she warned, “Oh, you’ll regret saying that.”</p><p>“Dear, sweet mother,” Morrigan rounded on her, poison-sweet, before Julian could answer, “You are so <em> kind </em> to cast me out like this. How <em> fondly </em> I shall remember this moment.” </p><p>“Well,” Flemeth shrugged, as Julian attempted to weigh the obvious danger of an angry Morrigan with how well she wore the emotion, “I’ve always said if you want something done, do it yourself… or hear about it for a decade or two afterward.”</p><p>Alistair began to demur again, but Kallian elbowed him sharply, the hit evidently connecting even through the laminar plates of his splinted mail, and Morrigan bid her mother farewell, reminding her to be mindful of the stew on the fire inside.</p><p>“Bah,” Flemeth waved her hand, “‘Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight!”</p><p>The young witch’s face fell, and she stammered a despondent self-correction until Flemeth smiled more gently and added, “Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear.”</p><p>Strange as that seemed to say, especially after Flemeth’s previous comment, none of the Wardens were about to remark on the Witch of the Wilds’ manner of speech or flights of friendliness, least of all toward her own daughter, and after a moment, they once again followed Morrigan into the forest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The sections here are a little out of order chronologically; the scenes with Lyna and Elissa take place before Julian finishes healing in Flemeth's hut, although given the late/early hour at which they find a place to rest, the former two aren't too far ahead of the others' traveling schedule.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. No Good Deed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although Morrigan had expertly guided the Wardens around the darkspawn horde within the Wilds, their party finally stumbled across a stray warband as they neared the Imperial Highway. With the aid of a brigandine-wearing knight, an unseen archer, and a pair of mabari hounds, the battle was a brief one, and as he leaned on his staff, recovering, Julian realized just why the warrior’s silver-plated cuirass looked familiar.</p><p>“Elissa? Thank the Maker,” the mage held out a hand and found himself drawn into a strong embrace. “We thought you must have survived, though the darkspawn came up behind us so suddenly I was afraid they might have ambushed you, as well. Where’s Lyna? And where did the second hound come from?”</p><p>“Right here, and that’s Suledin,” the Dalish hunter’s voice drew Julian’s gaze to the trees along the other side of the road. “The mabari I got the wilds-flower for, before the battle. Apparently he imprinted on me, then came and sought us out. Woke us up yesterday and looked at me until I gave him a name.”</p><p>“And I see you have another companion,” Elissa noted, doffing her helmet and smiling at the sole non-Warden present. “It was Morrigan, yes? Elissa Cousland, and this is Lyna Mahariel. A pleasure to meet you properly.”</p><p>“I remember you, yes,” the Wilds witch gave her an assessing look and nodded to herself. “As I recall, you held no chattering fear of magic or love of your own tongue, unlike those other two who have not joined us. Did they somehow survive as well, or will five Wardens be sufficient to defeat this Blight?”</p><p>“They’re dead,” Lyna said shortly, unstringing her bow before turning to salvage her arrows. “What’s important is that we have the treaties, and five of us plus a second mage will be harder to kill than the two of us on our own.”</p><p>“You think Loghain will try to have us killed, then?” Julian didn’t sound stunned by the implication, but it clearly hadn’t been the foremost possibility on his mind. Elissa nodded.</p><p>“He waited until you lit the signal,” she related, averting her eyes as she remembered the sight, “and then, exactly when he should have charged, his forces turned their backs and left the king and the Wardens and the rest of the army to die. They were already fading somewhat, but they weren’t doomed until the reinforcements he himself had planned marched away on his command. It was regicide, and he won’t want witnesses not loyal to him. Just like Howe.”</p><p>Julian cursed in a mix of elven and Tevene, ignoring the face Lyna made at his pronunciation. “Well, then,” he said eventually, “it’s very good that you have the treaties. Alistair also proposed appealing to Arl Eamon of Redcliffe; do you think that might help?”</p><p>“Eamon is a good man,” Elissa affirmed. “Not my father’s favorite, but someone he has always respected. Of course, he considered Howe a close friend—but, if he has remained constant, Eamon would be a valuable ally. He could reach out to Arl Leonas, as well, but as arl of Redcliffe, Eamon himself is the most powerful as well as the most widely respected ally we could hope for among the nobility, I think.”</p><p>“Arl Leonas?” Julian asked, distracted, as Kallian joined Lyna in stripping the darkspawn of valuables. </p><p>“Leonas Bryland, another wartime friend of my father’s,” Elissa explained. “He’s the arl of South Reach, not far northeast of here. He had a falling out with Howe not long after the war, and that created some distance between him and Father as well, but they remained friendly and I’m sure he would be eager to help us oppose Howe, and Loghain as well if he’s Howe’s patron now.”</p><p>“Then we may seek his support if Eamon fails us,” Julian nodded, considering, “in whatever form he can give it, at such a point. Or, I suppose, we could visit him first and have him reach out to Eamon, and then head north into the Brecilian Forest?”</p><p>“Also a possibility,” she agreed, calming Alistair’s objection to the idea of Eamon joining Loghain. “We should go by Lothering, unless Loghain has occupied it against survivors or the darkspawn, and see if we can learn anything more certain.”</p><p>“If we have finished debating,” Morrigan spoke up, leaning on her staff as she watched them piercingly, “perhaps we should continue on our way? Or do you plan for this Loghain and the archdemon both to come and meet you here?”</p><p>“Of course,” Elissa shook her head, turning to the elves. “Do you need a hand there? Looting corpses isn’t something I’m experienced at, but if it will make the work go faster…” </p><p>“I think we’re done here,” Kallian said, wiping her hands as she stood up. “Toxic magpies had a few shiny bits, but I think we’ve picked out everything salable that isn’t covered in poisonous body fluids. Julian, maybe you could, er,” she made a vague motion with her hands. The mage nodded, and once everyone was clear of the darkspawn corpses, the deadly remains ignited with an audible rush of air. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They finally reached Lothering several hours later, all eagerly anticipating the promise of hot food and the chance to restock on supplies. Morrigan had brought a few days’ dried meat and waybread, and Elissa and Lyna had taken the last of the rations that had seen the Wardens from the Dalish camp to Osatgar, but that and the coin they had from Kallian’s salvaging was little enough. </p><p>Naturally, as they came to the outskirts of the village, they found the way barred by another group of armed travelers who had decided to take a somewhat more proactive approach to their subjectively determined deficiency of funds. In other words, bandits.</p><p>Alistair and Morrigan, in rare implicit agreement, had loudly identified them as such, and Elissa’s hand was already falling to her sword when the apparent leader stood forward with an open hand and a nastily conversational grin on his face as he clicked his tongue, admonishing, “Now is that any way to greet someone? A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.”</p><p>“You’re toll collectors, then?” Julian stepped in front of Elissa, smirking; it was almost like being in the Fade, although the stakes of a verbal misstep were admittedly far lower.</p><p>“Indeed,” the bandit leader smiled broadly, “for the upkeep of the Imperial Highway! It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it?”</p><p>“The upkeep of the highway?” Julian looked around theatrically. “Perhaps you should charge more, then. It’s fallen to absolute pieces not ten miles south of here.”</p><p>“You… want to pay more?” The bandit looked at him skeptically, his gaze flicking to his well-armed, battle-ready companions. “Well, we’ll happily accept donations.”</p><p>“Oh, no, I’m just saying it’s a rough business for such a pittance,” Julian smirked, moving one hand behind his back and preparing a flame spell as his other hand played along his staff. </p><p>“I could be mistaken,” the bandit narrowed his eyes, “but that sounded threatening. Which is interesting, because you’re a bit outnumbered.” Technically, that was true, but it was by less than two to one, and even against human opponents, Julian and Elissa together and Kallian on her own had carved through far worse odds only weeks before.</p><p>Kallian laughed as she drew her shortsword, twirling the slender, leaf-shaped blade. “Hard to be outnumbered by a bunch of common thugs.”</p><p>“Well,” the bandit leader outright scowled, “I can’t say I’m pleased to hear that, knife-ear. We have rules, you know.”</p><p>“Right,” a larger, simple-looking man behind him piped up, “We get to ransack your corpse, then. Those are the rules.”</p><p>“You can certainly try,” Elissa retorted, unlimbering her shield and drawing her sword in a single practiced motion. Julian whipped his hand forward and threw the bandit leader back through his men with an explosive blast of fire, Kallian and Elissa moved forward to engage the men who had flanked the leader, followed shortly by Alistair, and Lyna drifted back alongside Morrigan to begin putting arrows through men’s eyes while the mages cast frost and lightning and unidentifiable entropic spells to hinder the brigands for their allies’ ease; in moments, the bandits were dead and wounded, their leader begging for mercy.</p><p><em> “‘Get by’?” </em> Elissa scoffed. “You’re thugs, preying on refugees! We ought to strip you down and bring you before the bann in chains!”</p><p>The problem with that proposal, it turned out, was that the bann and all his soldiers had marched north with Loghain, leaving only the Templars to keep order in Lothering, and the bandits were certain that the Chantry soldiers would execute them.</p><p>“<em>Fenedhis</em>,” Julian sighed. “Well, I’m not about to hand anyone over to the templars. So… I guess we’ll just have to execute you here, then.”</p><p>He had only been half-serious, but the bandit leader swore and lunged for his blade, so Julian froze and then shocked him without remorse. </p><p>“Well, we may as well get what we can from them,” Julian noted, “and… I suppose from anyone else around here who won’t be needing their purses and so on. In fact—Alistair, do you think that Templar’s breastplate would fit you?”</p><p>Alistair begged off making the comparison, although Lyna did discover a locket and note, which they resolved to deliver if the recipient happened across their path. The others recovered a helping of the bandits’ coin, along with what extra weapons they could carry without encumbering themselves, and they headed for the stone ramp that descended toward the south side of the town.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Elissa had not expected Lothering to be such a mess. The fields south of town were flooded with refugees, the autumn grass stamped into the dirt along with all the signs of squalor that could accompany the transience of people used to settled life. In truth, she wasn’t even sure where so many refugees could have come from: they were only a day and a half from the Wilds, though it did appear that many of those fleeing the Blight were Chasind, driven from their homes even before the horde had smashed the king’s army at Ostagar.</p><p>Movement among their group caught her attention as Julian drifted back, gesturing with his eyes to the path ahead of them, where a Templar stood in the middle of the road; meeting his gaze with a subtle nod, Elissa moved forward, drawing Alistair up alongside her, to command the knight’s attention.</p><p>“You, there!” the Templar called out as they approached, and Julian just suppressed a flinch. “If you’re looking for safe shelter, I’ll warn you, there’s none to be found,” he continued at a more normal volume. “Move on if you can. Refugees have been streaming in for the last two days, and the Chantry and tavern are full to bursting. There’s simply not enough food to go around. You’d be better off elsewhere, my friends.”</p><p>Elissa frowned as she pointed out that, while their party was capable of sheltering themselves, they did need to trade for supplies, whether they were scarce or not, and asked the Templar whether he meant to exclude them from the village. </p><p>“I’m just warning you things may not be as hospitable as you’d expect,” he replied. “With the bann and his men gone, and the news coming up from the south, people are frightened.”</p><p>“Of course,” Elissa nodded in understanding. “We’re well aware of what’s happened in the south. Is there anyone in charge we could speak to?”</p><p>“As I mentioned, the bann and his men have gone north with Teyrn Loghain, so Lothering’s on its own,” the Templar answered. “Most of the village folk look to Elder Miriam, on the other side of the river; otherwise, you could speak to Ser Bryant in the Chantry, I suppose. Whatever you prefer.”</p><p>“Thank you, ser,” Elissa said with a shallow bow, “You’ve been most helpful. Come, my friends.” Once they were past the Templar, standing where the path through the village diverged towards the Chantry and the bridge across the stream that appeared to lead toward most of the town proper, they paused and circled to confer. </p><p>“Alright,” Julian said, steadying himself, “I’d rather not go in a Chantry or spend more time around Templars, so I suggest we split up—Elissa, maybe you and Alistair could go talk to this Bryant fellow. Morrigan, I imagine you’d rather come with me; Kallian, Lyna, what would you prefer?”</p><p>“I’m not especially averse to Chantries,” Kallian shrugged, “but I might be more helpful looking around the village. This place is empty compared to Denerim, but I know shems and I know opportunities. Speaking of which, be sure to check the Chanter’s board; we’ve got some coin for now, but it’s anyone’s guess when we might have a chance to earn more.”</p><p>Lyna, for her part, was similarly non-committal, and ultimately decided to stick with Julian, Kallian, and Morrigan: one group of four odd-looking travelers, everyone considered, would draw less notice than a group of three odd-looking travelers plus a pair of otherwise ordinary knights traveling with a Dalish elf. </p><p>“We have a plan, then,” Elissa affirmed, ignoring Morrigan’s sulking under her breath. The other four departed toward the bridge, and she gestured gallantly for Alistair to set the pace toward the Chantry. Barely halfway to the sun-styled gates, however, they came across a rapidly escalating argument, as a merchant bodily shoved a hectoring Sister away from his wagon.</p><p>“You profit from their misfortune!” the woman cried. “I should have the templars give away everything in your carts!”</p><p>Alistair interrupted the merchant’s angry retort with his customary pleased-to-meet-you-all dry sarcasm, and the stranger swiftly offered them several sovereigns in silver to “drive off” the Sister and the desperate refugees around them.</p><p>“Surely,” Elissa pointed out, “You can compromise and still make a profit? It no more benefits you to have no customers than it benefits us if we cannot afford your wares.”</p><p>The merchant groaned and muttered but assented to reduce his prices, and Elissa traded several silvers and her and Alistair’s load of the bandits’ gear for travelers’ rolls and stockfish that would get them at least closer to Redcliffe, if not all the way. Then, leaving the merchant behind, they came to the Chanters’ board, and Elissa rolled her eyes before she could help herself.</p><p>“Well,” she muttered to Alistair, looking at the notice pinned to the board, “At least it’s a problem we’re well-equipped to solve. Come on, let’s have a word with Ser Bryant, first, and see what else we can learn.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, as the mages and elves proceeded toward the stone bridge, a lost-looking child caught Julian’s eye, and he knelt before the boy to ask what was wrong. It turned out that he was waiting for his missing parents: his father had gone with his brother to their neighbors’ house, presumably in the outlying area, and never returned, and then his mother had told him to run when “mean men with swords came.”</p><p>While Julian attempted to dance around the evidence that the boy’s parents were dead—he seemed too young and too frightened to respond in a way the mage could handle well—Kallian had knelt beside him and gently pressed a silver into the boy’s hand before directing him to the Chantry, and he had looked at the two in childish wonderment.</p><p>“So, um… are you really elves?” the boy asked, hesitating. </p><p>Julian let out an involuntary huff of laughter before replying with a smile, “Well, I’m only half-elven, but yes. I suppose the ears must have given it away?”</p><p>“Father says elves aren’t very nice,” the boy explained his question, nodding earnestly, “but you’re nicer than everybody here. Thank you for helping me!”</p><p>As the child scuffed the dirt before wandering slowly toward the Chantry, Julian laughed to himself at the question he had posed. “‘Are you really elves’,” he quoted to Kallian, shaking his head. “I think the last time anyone asked me a question like that was… Petra, I think, when we were both maybe six years old and she had just arrived at the Circle.”</p><p>“Well, it’s certainly a childish question,” Kallian agreed, “although not one I can recall being asked before. How about you, Lyna?”</p><p>“Once or twice,” the Dalish girl replied. “In much the same tone Daveth used when he realized Morrigan was a witch. ‘Are you really Dalish? Oh, please don’t kill me!’ I didn’t, of course,” she added, “at least when I could. Tamlen was less forgiving, but I never saw the point—unless they were the ‘stupid knife-ears’ sort instead of the terrified begging sort, and even mercy bites the hand that feeds it sometimes.”</p><p>“Mother would make sport of punishing wayward travelers who betrayed us to the Templars,” Morrigan reminisced with sudden fondness. “After the Templars themselves were dealt with, naturally.”</p><p>No one had much to add to that, so they went in search of Elder Miriam. She needed medicinal supplies, which Julian, having studied potion-making along with active magic in the Circle, handed over from their own stores in exchange for the elder’s notes on where the necessary herbs to replace them could be found abundantly. Lyna promised to make traps for another villager, and Kallian noted with satisfaction that Loghain’s reports appeared to have gained little traction among the populace. Finally, mindful of the Templar’s warning but hopeful nonetheless, they turned to the village inn.</p><p>Dane’s Refuge was, if not a particularly refined establishment, then certainly not a coarse one either, at least by common Fereldan standards. It was also, they quickly realized, playing host to a small band of soldiers far more loyal to the teyrn than he had been to their king.</p><p>“Well, boys, looks like we’re in luck,” their leader crowed, evidently oblivious to the fact that, only minutes before, the four people in front of him had killed seven brigands just as well-equipped—and, in all likelihood, as well-trained—as his own men. </p><p>“Weren’t we just asking around,” another soldier asked rhetorically, “for a group by exactly this description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen them?”</p><p>The commander’s lip curled unpleasantly as he sneered, “It seems we were lied to.”</p><p>“Gentlemen,” an accented voice interrupted, “surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”</p><p>Julian rolled his eyes at the obvious falsehood—though the Wardens and Morrigan were more lightly armored, they were just as clearly trained fighters as the soldiers before them—but his concern for the red-haired Chantry sister who apparently hoped to defend them was set aside as the soldiers’ commander roughly brushed the woman aside.</p><p>“Perhaps we should take this outside?” Julian asked, raising one hand placatingly. “There are more than enough innocents here, and I would hate to—”</p><p>“Enough!” the commander yelled, drawing his greatsword. Before he could utter another word, Julian froze him solid, and Kallian pierced the ice at his throat and groin. Lyna forwent her bow in the tight space and took advantage of her small size and lithe form, tumbling around one soldier before slicing at his legs and exploiting another’s clumsy attack to shove his weapon aside and kill him; Morrigan did something unidentifiable at a glance, and even the Chantry sister had drawn a long dagger and used it to swiftly dispatch a pair of Loghain’s men. In moments, the soldiers lay dead on the floor, and the Wardens moved quickly to deposit the bodies outside before the innkeeper could bring his wrath down on them. </p><p>“I apologize for interfering,” the sister said as they finished laying out and scavenging from the bodies, “but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”</p><p>“Well, I suppose it didn’t hurt,” Julian allowed, holding up a hand for silence as he concentrated. He brought his staff down decisively, and the ground beneath the dead soldiers rumbled and cracked, slowly swallowing the bodies until only turned earth was left behind. “Who are you, though, to take such an interest in us?”</p><p>Their new acquaintance stared at the disturbed soil for a moment, blinking, before she abruptly shook her head and turned to face the mage with a disarming smile.</p><p>“Allow me to introduce myself,” she replied, straightening her posture and giving a faint hint of a bow. “I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or," she glanced again where the teyrn's men were buried, "I was.”</p><p>“You were?” Kallian asked with a raised brow. “Did they kick you out for brawling in taverns?”</p><p>“Nothing like that, no,” the sister—Leliana—laughed in reply. “I am in good standing with the Revered Mother. But they said you were Grey Wardens. I’m surprised you are elves, but then elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?”</p><p>“A lot more than some shems, apparently,” Lyna scoffed. “The reason Loghain wants us dead is that he betrayed the king and the Wardens together at Ostagar. Came up with a plan that put them all on the front lines, depending on his surprise charge to flank the darkspawn, then pulled out <em> exactly </em> when the signal came to charge—may the Dread Wolf take him,” she added in an undertone.</p><p>“That’s terrible!” Leliana cried, a hand rising to cover her mouth. “But now I know why I was brought here, why it is so important that I help you.”</p><p>“‘Brought here’?” Julian asked skeptically. Leliana frowned but nodded. </p><p>“I… I know it sounds… completely insane,” she worried, “but—the Maker told me to help you! I had a dream, a vision!”</p><p>Julian pinched his brow. Kallian pursed her lips. Morrigan rolled her eyes. Lyna hummed thoughtfully.</p><p>“Oh, Creators, why not?” the Dalish hunter sighed. “If you’re alright traveling with a heathen, an apostate, plus another elf and a half-elven mage, who cares if you had a dream sent by Fen’harel himself, as long as you know which end of a blade to hold and how to not swallow darkspawn blood.”</p><p>“‘Twere it either of the others here saying such things,” Morrigan sighed acerbically, “I would wonder whether they had not hit their heads harder than Mother believed. I am uncertain how to explain your behavior, however.”</p><p>Julian barked a laugh. “She’s a pragmatist, Morrigan. She can hardly be more of a misfit than the rest of us—Whatever,” he added to Leliana, “your story really is. Not that any of us will pry, so long as it doesn’t bring more trouble after you. Kallian?”</p><p>The city elf shrugged her assent, and Julian offered his hand to the sister. “It’s good to have you with us, then. I’m Julian, these are Kallian, Morrigan, and Lyna. Alistair and Elissa are by the Chantry—we should probably head back in that direction and check on them now.”</p><p>Leliana clasped his hand with both of hers, half-bowing as she vowed, “I appreciate being given this chance. I <em> will not </em> let you down.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Drumhead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Before Elissa and Alistair could find Ser Bryant—or, indeed, even enter the chantry itself—they came across yet another simmering altercation, as an unusually dark-skinned Chasind man raved as if stricken by one of the Old Gods themselves.</p><p>“Better to slit their throats now,” he cried in response to a villager’s objection, “than let them suffer at darkspawn hands! There!” He whirled as the Grey Wardens approached, pointing frantically, “One of their minions is already among us! Those two bear their evil stench! Can you not see the vile blackness that fills them?”</p><p>“That’s odd,” Alistair muttered quietly, “I can’t sense the Taint on him, but usually the only way to sense the corruption is to be infected by it. And people who are just infected usually can’t sense it anyways.”</p><p>Elissa hummed in response and stepped forward, hands raised placatingly as the doomsayer continued to cry out against them. “You poor man,” she frowned sympathetically, “What happened to you?”</p><p>His reply was achingly familiar: “My family, my clan…” he trailed off momentarily, his gaze losing focused before he gathered his grief, “Those creatures butchered them all. Some of us fled here, but there is no escape! I… I ran, hearing my wife’s screams as they dragged her away.”</p><p>“Peace, then,” she urged, struggling to control her own emotions. “I, too, was forced to abandon my family—not to escape the darkspawn, but to come and fight them. Do what you can to help these people, and honor your wife’s death, just as I honor my parents by pursuing an end to the archdemon, that we might drive those monsters back to the Deep Roads.”</p><p>“I… You shame me,” the Chasind man hesitated and bowed his head, “But the blackness will come….” Muttering and shaking his head, he wandered off,  leaving the Wardens with a crowd of anxious villagers. A few encouraging words from Elissa dispelled their immediate terror, also earning her an impressed look from Alistair, and the farmers resolved to head for Denerim—a good plan, she thought, and hopefully one they would encourage their neighbors and each other to enact as soon as possible.</p><p>Inside at last, the Lothering chantry was not the grandest Elissa had ever been in, but the long central aisle and second-story, wood-vaulted ceiling nonetheless far exceeded the humbler chapel that was part of Castle Cousland. Ser Bryant, at least, was easy enough to find, standing in the middle of the hall giving orders to another pair of Templars.</p><p>“We are all the protection this village has now,” he was saying, “and I will not abandon them. That is all. May the Maker have mercy on us.”</p><p>“Ser Bryant, I presume?” Elissa asked once the other Templars had departed. Her gaze flickered around the Chantry as he introduced himself, and she took a risk: “I am Elissa Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce of Highever… and a member of the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>Bryant’s eyes widened at her introduction, and he repeated the bandits’ notice that the Wardens had been declared traitors by Teyrn Loghain—although the Templar, for his part, was not inclined to believe that particular announcement, not after the onetime war hero had withdrawn nearly all of Lothering’s protection.</p><p>“I don’t believe the Grey Wardens would be as careless or malicious as the teyrn claims,” he assured them, “but there it is. It is best you not linger, though, just in case.”</p><p>“We do not intend to,” Elissa assured him, “but we are in need of supplies and information. We were told to speak with you concerning the bandits on the south road?”</p><p>“Maker’s breath,” Bryant sighed, “How many times must we drive them off?”</p><p>“No need,” Elissa smiled thinly. “Remember who we are, and that a few others escaped the teyrn’s trap with us. Those bandits won’t be bothering anyone again.”</p><p>Bryant’s consternation shifted quickly to relief as another Templar arrived to confirm their account, and he offered twenty silvers in reward and, more quietly, a key to a standing chest at the back of the chantry, filled with more than the soldiers and villagers could carry in their evacuation. Elissa accepted the coin and key gratefully, wished him luck and good speed in the evacuation, and turned to depart when Alistair caught her arm.</p><p>“Over there,” he indicated quietly, “I think that’s one of Arl Eamon’s knights. If we want more information before we decide which way to go, we should talk to him.”</p><p>The knight, it turned out, was Ser Donall, and he swiftly confirmed Alistair’s faith that Arl Eamon would be of their side—and, in the same breath, dashed their hopes of swift aid from that quarter, for the arl of Redcliffe was tormented with an unknown sickness that even magic had not been able to cure, and it was in search of one impossible remedy that Donall himself had come to Lothering.</p><p>“Andraste’s ashes are said to cure any illness,” he explained, “but I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims. I came here hoping to take advantage of the chantry’s library, but,” he sighed, shaking his head, “my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales.”</p><p>“Unfortunate indeed,” Elissa commiserated. “We were hoping to meet with Arl Eamon, to seek his aid politically against Teyrn Loghain. With my family murdered by Rendon Howe, few others could hope to rally the banns, and Ferelden cannot defeat the Blight while the Grey Wardens are outlaws. I wish you luck, Ser Donall, although for all my love of legends I’m uncertain if it will help.”</p><p>“There is one more thing,” Alistair added, as Ser Donall reeled from Elissa’s string of revelations. “There were bandits on the south road into the village. We dealt with them, but… they had already killed your friend, Ser Henric. We recovered his locket and a note.”</p><p>Stunned sadness overtook the knight, and he accepted the items gratefully before leaving them to return to Redcliffe. Elissa led the way to the end of the chantry and opened the chest with Ser Bryant’s key; she shared a look with Alistair at the store of healing poultices, but decided to take the Templar at his word and collected a handful of the potions and salves. She could see the Revered Mother holding court in one of the back rooms, but considered that revealing her identity to Ser Bryant had been risk enough, and led Alistair back toward their companions.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The Wardens reunited outside Dane’s Refuge, not far from where Julian had buried the bodies of Loghain’s men. Fortunately, the innkeeper had been grateful enough to them for keeping the mess to a minimum—and, though he didn’t say it, for finally resolving the chaos the soldiers had been causing—that they were welcomed back inside, though as the Templar at the gates had warned there was no food to spare. Even so, Kallian had managed to unearth a few more business opportunities, and Julian was fitting several letters of conscription and reprisal into his pack as Alistair and Elissa approached them.</p><p>“Ah, there you are!” the mage called. “You missed all the excitement—Loghain left a few of his men behind to watch for survivors. We handled them fine, but this… interesting woman decided to lend us a hand, and at her insistence we’ve invited her along. Elissa, Alistair, meet Sister Leliana. Leliana, Lady Elissa Cousland and Alistair, the most senior Fereldan Warden.”</p><p>Morrigan pursed her lips as the three shook hands, smirking when the warriors stepped back in surprise as Leliana once again related her dream-vision. Elissa, however, recovered quickly, offering a smile and a sincere welcome before turning to the other Wardens to learn what else had happened.</p><p>“More worryingly,” Julian added, concluding his summary, “We heard rumors coming down from Kinloch Hold. Nothing specific, and Templars are more than capable of having overactive imaginations, but if they’re telling people that ‘all the mages are turning into demons,’ I’d like to get there sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“We’ve bad news as well,” Elissa shared in reply, “although fortunately, it requires us to travel in at least roughly the same direction. Arl Eamon is badly ill, to the point that his wife has scattered his knights across the country in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”</p><p>“Searching for a legendary relic? That is bad,” Julian frowned. “Where is Redcliffe, exactly? I don’t want to ignore the arl’s plight, but I fear that the situation at the Circle is likely more volatile, if the arl has survived long enough for such a quest to have a hope of aiding him.”</p><p>“Redcliffe lies to the west,” Alistair answered swiftly, “Near the southern extremity of Lake Calenhad, commanding the pass down from the Frostbacks into the Hinterlands. It’s been a critical stronghold throughout Fereldan history, even before the time of Calenhad himself.” Controlling his sudden enthusiasm, he added, “It’s probably about a week from here to Redcliffe, same as the walk to the Circle, but we could likely make it from Redcliffe to the Circle in a fraction of that time sailing along the lake.”</p><p>“That would be something,” Julian smiled, imagining the symbolism of arriving at the hold in a boat of his own. Of course, the Templars would only allow the ferry to approach the Circle’s island, but the idea was there, and he nodded in affirmation. “Alright, then, we’ll head for Redcliffe first, and see about reaching out to Bryland there, and then head up to the Circle by boat, unless anyone has objections?”</p><p>There were none, although Lyna shared some apprehension about a long trip over water. Alistair and Elissa assured her that the trip would be near shore and of short duration, and she hefted her bow, turning toward the north gate of the village, and resolved to bear it when the time came. </p><p>As they passed the village gates, heading into the northern farms, Julian paused as he heard a strange litany being uttered in a deep, quiet voice from a tall, narrow cage. The occupant, he realized, was a qunari—even lacking horns, his stature alone left little doubt of his race, given Julian’s familiarity with illustrations of the great northern menace whose shadow rendered battlemages so attractive to the Chantry, despite their dangerous skills. </p><p>“You aren’t one of my captors,” the giant observed as they drew near, speaking with the same slow, deliberate tone he had chanted in. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”</p><p>“The Chantry folk put you here, I take it?” Julian asked in reply. “They do seem fond of caging what they don’t understand.”</p><p>“I caged myself,” the qunari replied. “A weak mind is a deadly foe.”</p><p>“The Revered Mother said he killed an entire family,” Leliana elaborated from the back of the group. “Even the children.”</p><p>“It is as she says,” he confirmed. “I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard of the Qunari peoples.”</p><p>At the giant’s words, Julian nearly turned on his heel—before Morrigan, of all people, commented on the cruelty of leaving someone thus restrained for the darkspawn. Instead, the Circle mage bit back the comment that had been rising to his own lips on the practices of the Qunari, and looked to his fellow Wardens. To his surprise, it was Kallian who spoke next, asking the giant if he sought to atone.</p><p>“My death shall be my atonement,” Sten replied. Kallian regarded him dubiously.</p><p>“Letting yourself get eaten by the darkspawn seems less like atonement,” she observed, “and more like a particularly messy way to die. We’re Grey Wardens—you could come with us, maybe, and do some good for people, instead of just biting it in a cage.”</p><p>“You are Grey Wardens?” he asked. “Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’ strength and skill… though I suppose not every legend is true.”</p><p>“And not everyone who’s been sentenced to death or worse gets a second chance,” Julian shot back, his speech clipped. “Do you want to come with us or not?”</p><p>“It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here,” Sten acknowledged. “Perhaps if you told the Revered Mother the Grey Wardens need my assistance.”</p><p>“To be left here to starve, or be taken by the darkspawn,” Leliana murmured as they headed north, pledging to speak with the Revered Mother after dealing with the bandits. “No one deserves that. Not even a murderer.”</p><p>“He’s not <em> just </em> a murderer,” Julian muttered back, acquiescing, “We can take him, but if he tries to sew my mouth shut, I’m using you as a human shield.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They planned on dividing the party again to clear the bandits: Julian went with Kallian, Leliana, and Alistair, and Elissa with Lyna, Morrigan, and the hounds. The Wilds witch had made a face at the mabari, but accepted the point that she found them less irritating than Alistair and the lay sister. </p><p>That the first pack of bandits had camped out within the actual farmland consequently meant that they were annihilated before anyone involved fully registered what was happening. Once they had stripped and disposed of the bodies—Leliana demonstrating surprising facility with the task—they split up, Elissa’s group heading west and Julian’s north toward the river.</p><p>In all, it took little time to dispose of the remaining bandits, and only slightly longer to track down the nest of giant spiders Kallian had heard mention of, from which she enlisted Lyna and Julian’s aid in removing the venom sacs to prepare a simple poison for the innkeeper. The bears who emerged from across the river were trickier to handle, possessing an apparent resistance to Julian’s frost magic, but lightning and swords proved as reliable as ever, and left behind corpses on which Julian, on Elissa’s advice, cast an ice ward to preserve them for the villagers who had posted a notice on the Chanter’s board. While Kallian and Julian went to deliver the poison and Lyna took the chance to construct a set of simple traps, Elissa took Leliana and Alistair back to the Chantry to speak to the Revered Mother.</p><p>When the first thing the woman did was ask for a donation to the Chantry, Elissa decided not to be any more forthcoming than she had to be. There was no one to buy anything from for those who needed it, although fortunately the Revered Mother seemed no more interested in the significance of Elissa’s well-made armor than she was in assisting with Ser Bryant’s evacuation. </p><p>Fortunately, she was as well-disposed toward Leliana as Elissa had hoped she would be, and a simple assurance of their intentions from the lay sister saw the key to Sten’s cage deposited from the chantry elder’s hand into Elissa’s. The others were waiting across the bridge when they returned, and the whole company quickly made their way to Sten’s cage.</p><p>“I confess,” the giant rumbled as Elissa brandished the key, “I did not think the priestess would part with it.”</p><p>“She agreed to release you into our custody,” Elissa explained. “It appears that she places a great deal of trust in Leliana—even more than she places on the sound of silver in the collection dish, though I wasn’t about to give her money to spend on failing to evacuate the village. We’ll be responsible for you, however, and that means you need to follow commands: where we march, when we fight, and just as importantly, when we stand down. Is that understood?”</p><p>“So be it,” Sten nodded. “Set me free, and I will follow you against the Blight.”</p><p>Elissa stepped forward and inserted the key, and a moment later the door swung wide, and the qunari was free.</p><p>“So it is done,” he declared, stepping down onto the grass. “I will follow you into battle. In doing so, I shall find my atonement.”</p><p>“We’ll have to find him some armor,” Julian observed, glancing over the stretched, light fabric the qunari wore, “Or else he’ll find his atonement real quick, which I gather isn’t the general idea here?”</p><p>Unfortunately for Sten’s hide, they had no armor on hand suitable for a broad-shouldered man of nearly seven feet tall, but the qunari shrugged off the inconvenience for the time in favor of moving on. Kallian had, however, held back a greatsword and sheath from the rest of the valuables they had scavenged from the bandits, which Sten accepted gratefully, along with some of the additional food and poultices they had acquired. With their business in Lothering finally concluded, the Wardens and their companions left the village behind, heading once more across the village farms back to the Imperial Highway.</p><p>Halfway to the great stone road, however, they discovered that soldiers and bandits were not the only people in the area with an interest in seeing them dead. </p><p>“I don’t know if you killed King Cailan, and Maker help me, I don’t care,” declared the axe-wielding farmer at the head of a dozen men of a kind—unarmored, poorly armed, and in no physical shape to oppose the Grey Wardens. “Those bounties on your heads could fill a lot of empty bellies. Attack!”</p><p>The impoverished villagers stormed forward before the Wardens could say a word in reply, forcing them to draw their weapons to defend themselves. One farmer caught a stone fist to the chest that bowled him over, and two more were buffeted back by a wave of icy wind, but Julian could only do so much after his earlier exertions, and most of the villagers fell with arrow or sword wounds, many of them fatal.</p><p>“What a senseless waste of human life,” the mage muttered, looking over the fallen. The leader was among those he had disabled, and knelt on the ground before them as the Winter’s Grasp faded, leaving him shivering on the grass in the Solace sun. “Go back to your families,” Julian commanded the survivors, standing over them. “Tend to your farms, and head north as soon as you can. Empty bellies will be the least of your concerns when the darkspawn arrive.”</p><p>The remaining members of the would-have-been posse nodded frantically as they climbed to their feet, then scattered back toward their homes—hopefully, he thought, not to tell the Templars they had just escaped from a terrifying mage, however sympathetic Elissa said Ser Bryant had been.</p><p>It mattered little, however, since it was only a little farther to the northern ramp leading up to the Imperial Highway, and then once again they had more pressing things to worry about: a band of darkspawn had apparently circumnavigated the village and were menacing a pair of dwarves, one so young he even lacked a beard. The warriors moved forward, led by Sten’s Qunari battle cry, as Lyna and Leliana put arrows into the darkspawn and Kallian moved to fall on their flanks. Morrigan lashed out with ice and subtler powers, while Julian, still slightly winded, took up a position defending the dwarves with smaller bursts of frost and flame.</p><p>“Mighty timely arrival there, my friends,” the adult dwarf waved in greeting once the last of the monsters were destroyed. “I’m much obliged. The name’s Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here’s my son, Sandal—say hello, boy.”</p><p>“Hello!” The young dwarf smiled and waved in a way that suggested he wasn’t all there, although something about him seemed keenly perceptive all the same.</p><p>“Road’s been mighty dangerous these days,” Bodahn lamented, surveying the darkspawn corpses and his own damaged wagon. “Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we’re going the same way.”</p><p>“I doubt you’d want to travel alongside Grey Wardens, messere,” Julian smiled self-deprecatingly. “Even without the teryn’s slanders, we’re not the sort to keep out of danger, especially in times like these.”</p><p>“Grey Wardens, is that so?” Bodahn regarded them thoughtfully. “My, that does rather explain a lot—But, and no offense intended, I suspect there’s more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though.”</p><p>“Farewell and good fortune to you, as well, messere,” Julian bowed slightly. “I would advise that you take yourselves north with all speed: southern Ferelden, and the country at large, are soon to become rather more dangerous than they have been of late.”</p><p>The merchant thanked them again and, after Sandal bid them farewell in his own curious manner, the two turned to gathering their goods and repairing what the darkspawn had done to their cart. The Wardens lingered a few minutes more to gather what they could from the creatures and pile their bodies to the side of the roadway, where Julian once again set them aflame, and moved on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title note:<br/>Another TNG episode, in this case also referring to the concept at play in the episode: a drumhead trial, when a military commander would dispense expedient "justice" with minimal concern for genuine principle. The Grey Wardens' defamation by Loghain gestures at the idea, and Sten's sentence to starvation/being eaten by darkspawn certainly qualifies, even if I am inclined to sympathize with Julian there.<br/>(On a side note, Julian's snarking about Sten "finding atonement real quick" is one of my favorite things I've written for this fic.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Those Who Wander</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having reached Lothering near midday and spent several hours exploring the village and hunting bandits, the Wardens made only a little progress toward Redcliffe before it was time to set camp—but, unlike the previous nights in the Wilds, they were at last able to set up a proper camp again, protected by magical wards and with a fire for stewing the dried fish and the last of their meat.</p><p>Kallian knelt beside the fire with Leliana, half her attention on the stew and half on their companions, scattered around the clearing: Alistair and Elissa, conversing with Lyna as the hunter tended meticulously to her bow; Sten, standing still and silent on his own; and more distantly, Julian, having completed the wards, speaking to Morrigan near the witch’s own fire.</p><p>“So what was it like, living in the Chantry?” Kallian asked, bringing her focus back to her immediate surroundings. “I had some exposure, obviously, living in the alienage, but as much as they made gestures of charity to us, it wasn’t as if we were actually welcome there ourselves.”</p><p>“It was quiet,” Leliana replied after a moment, looking at her studiously. “A life suited to contemplation. In the cloister, away from the fuss and flurry of the cities, I found peace… and in that stillness, I could hear the Maker. But,” she added with a nod, “it was not perfect. Some of my Chantry fellows were condescending. That is the nature of religious folk, I suppose.”</p><p>“Not all of them,” Kallian shrugged, thinking of a few Sisters who had seemed genuinely invested in the welfare of the alienage—the woman who had tried to deter Vaughan and his men from kidnapping her and Shianni among them. “But it does seem a bit inseparable from how the Chantry sets itself up. Those who genuinely don’t look down on others end up working against the laws they profess to uphold.”</p><p>Leliana nodded again. “I have never believed that it made sense for the Chantry to exclude elves and others from the priesthood. But I suppose it is the nature of people to be selfish: that is why, when I talked about my own beliefs—that the Maker reveals Himself in the beauty of His world—they treated me with disdain.”</p><p>“It would reflect rather poorly on them, wouldn’t it?” Kallian scoffed, pausing to stir the pot before turning back to the lay sister. “If the world is the Maker’s work, then all their cities and conquests and laws might be considered a bit of an intrusion. Not that I’ve ever had much time for gods, myself,” she added with a sigh. “The Creators left us, the Maker left you—even the ‘Vint gods went silent, apparently, to everyone except the darkspawn, ever since the first one got turned into an archdemon, and they weren’t much better before. You ask me, gods are more trouble than they’re worth.”</p><p>“That is… a strong position,” Leliana replied, hesitating. “Do you not believe what I said before, that the Maker reveals Himself in the beauty of this world?”</p><p>Kallian shrugged. “The most beautiful thing I knew, before Duncan recruited me,” she began, “was the Venadahl in the center of the alienage. A massive tree, even bigger than most that grow out here. But it’s an elven custom, nearly all that’s left to us of the heritage the Chantry tried to destroy in the Maker’s name—and it’s surrounded by poverty and overcrowding, and whatever the local priests might do for us could never come close to what was taken, in the destruction of the Dales and by the hatred the Chantry instills in common folk for our people.”</p><p>“But those things are not the Maker’s work,” Leliana pressed back. “This is what many in the Chantry refuse to see, that the Maker loves everyone: the downtrodden, the oppressed, just as much as the highborn and the clergy. The Chant accurses those who do harm ‘to the least of His children’: it is the sins of men that have turned His gaze from us, not the hatred or ill will of the Maker.”</p><p>“Isn’t that what a loving parent is for, though?” Kallian raised an eyebrow. “Without Ma and Da—and especially Da, ever since the guards—” she cut herself off, blinking hard. “I didn’t figure out how to use a knife or slip the watch or keep my friends safe from arls’ sons on my own, and without Da I probably never would have figured out when to <em> stop </em> fighting. If you care about someone, and you have the power to help them… you help them, or you don’t really care. Anyways, stew’s done.”</p><p>“It smells delicious,” Leliana smiled, a troubled expression hiding in her gaze. “I will think on what you have said. Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time?”</p><p>“Sure,” Kallian smiled back, fishing for her cup to ring against the pot. “Not after dinner, though. Julian and I were going to have a… discussion of our own, after Ostagar, but on our way out of the Wilds we never had the space or the time.”</p><p>Julian woke with a start, holding tightly to Kallian. She was awake, too—in fact, it seemed, all the Wardens were, though their companions, and the dwarves who’d shown back up halfway through dinner, remained asleep. He had been dreaming, the unformed guesses of wilderness spirits melding with Kallian’s presence and the Circle converted to an insurmountable castle without a Templar in sight, and then the dragon had roared and it all dissolved in darkness and ash.</p><p>“That was no ordinary dream,” he said into the waking night, half an observation and half a request for answers. “I have a good sense for when I’m in the Fade, and that… was not.”</p><p>“Is it not? I suppose that makes sense,” Alistair mused, still rubbing his head on the other side of the campfire. “You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what that dream was—us all hearing them. The archdemon, it… ‘talks’ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That’s why we know this is really a Blight.”</p><p>“The same sort of vision we had during the Joining,” Julian nodded in realization, stroking Kallian’s hand. “More intense, then, because of… everything else about the Joining, but that connection is still present… can the archdemon see us, then?”</p><p>He shifted upright with the last thought, his bearing tense, and Kallian moved to sit up properly as well. “Maker, that would be our luck,” the city elf groaned, “Surviving Ostagar just to be hunted down in the Blighted countryside.”</p><p>“Well, the darkspawn can sense us,” Alistair sighed, “just like we can sense them. So it might be able to, in general—I don’t think it was looking at us specifically there, though.”</p><p>“So we’re safe for now,” Elissa said, sitting up on the other side of the fire, “but we should take precautions. Julian, your wards will prevent any darkspawn from physically sneaking up on us, right?”</p><p>“Darkspawn or anything else,” the mage confirmed. “Even Templars couldn’t dispel the protections without setting off an alarm in my head, at least, and then I’d get you all up right quick.”<br/>
“I never doubted you,” she assured him with a smile, “but the vote of confidence is welcome all the same, after an experience like that. Although, Alistair—if Duncan could tell so clearly that there was an archdemon about, why did he not simply tell King Cailan and the rest what he knew?”</p><p>“He <em> did </em>,” Alistair replied, “He said he felt the archdemon’s presence. But non-Wardens don’t understand that connection, so everyone just assumed he was guessing. It takes a bit,” he sighed, “but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Wardens said they could understand the archdemon a but, but I sure can’t.”</p><p>“Well, that’s promising,” Julian said lightly. “I was having a nice time in the Fade before that thing decided to drag us all through the Void and back. Lyna, Kallian,” he asked, “how are you two?”</p><p>“Alright,” Kallian said, relaxing against him again. “That wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t the Joining, either. And eventually we’re going to kill that damned thing and it won’t be able to bother us anymore, right?”</p><p>Alistair hesitated, frowning slightly. “Well, the dragon will be gone, yes,” he affirmed, “but the dreams never entirely stop. It’s the Taint, you see. It’s still in all of us, that’s what connects us to the darkspawn. Our bodies can handle it a lot better than anyone who hasn’t been through the Joining, and we have greater endurance than most people, as well, but… it takes a toll.”</p><p>“Well, I suppose that makes sense enough,” Lyna sighed, “from the whole able-to-sense-darkspawn thing. Are there any other fun surprises, or is that all?”</p><p>“Ah, well,” Alistair hemmed and hawed for a moment, “I assume you’ve all noticed the increased appetite?” There were nods from around the camp, and he continued abruptly, speaking in a rush. “You know how Duncan said it could be a cure for you? And it was, mostly—you’d be dead already if it weren’t for the Joining. But… none of us are going to live that long, either. Twenty, maybe thirty years. It varies, but… that’s how long we’ve got before the Calling: the song gets too loud to ignore, and we’ve got to go down to the Deep Roads and die fighting before we turn into ghouls.”</p><p>“Assuming none of us die in battle,” Elissa pointed out quietly.</p><p>“Yes,” Alistair laughed awkwardly, “Well, that’s certainly true. Not like the Fereldan Wardens have the best record on reaching retirement age at the moment. I… don’t suppose any of you are having regrets?”</p><p>Julian shrugged expansively. “Not like Duncan really gave any of us a choice, or circumstance. I said back at the Joining, I’d rather live than die, but I’d rather live free for a few years than die under the thumb of the Chantry. Kallian, Elissa?”</p><p>“I… miss my family,” Elissa said, slowly. “If Fergus were alive… is alive, maybe. He wasn’t in the main battle, but I don’t know… I can’t leave Highever in the hands of Rendon Howe. If the Couslands are done for, fine, but the Howes are going down with us, no matter what oaths I’m supposed to be sworn to.”</p><p>“Damn right,” Kallian agreed fiercely. “Nothing I could’ve done for anyone by staying, but if Vaughan fucking Kendalls were still alive, a legion of griffons straight from Weisshaupt couldn’t stop me from putting him back in the ground.”</p><p>“Hear, hear,” Julian affirmed. “All the more reason to call us <em> Grey </em> Wardens, I suppose, not to mention that we’re out to overthrow the teyrn of Gwaren in <em> order </em> to fight the Blight.”</p><p>“Well, if we want to kill them all before we die of the Calling,” Lyna observed, pulling up her breeches, “we should make use of the early light and start breaking camp before the others wake up.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Although Lyna had—surprisingly quickly, she reflected again—come to like and care for her fellow Grey Wardens, especially those who had traveled with her from the Brecilian Forest, she was only just beginning to know the rest of their companions. Alistair and Leliana were nice enough, though both thoroughly shemlen, even more so than Elissa; Sten, meanwhile, was a creature of few words and fewer sympathies, though she thought Julian’s dislike a touch overwrought. Morrigan, however, was fascinating, especially in light of what she and Elissa had heard of how their fellow Wardens escaped from Ostagar.</p><p>“Is it true that your mother is Asha’bellanar?” she asked as they walked, having fallen back to speak to the witch undisturbed. Morrigan huffed.</p><p>“Why <em> are </em> you Grey Wardens so curious?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “I do not probe you for pointless information, do I?”</p><p>“You can probe me anytime,” Lyna replied, smirking as she let her gaze dip momentarily..</p><p>“How clever,” Morrigan deadpanned. “The mage said much the same thing—though in his case the innuendo was more stirring.”</p><p>“Well, great minds think alike, as the shems say,” Lyna shrugged, still smiling. </p><p>“And fools seldom disagree,” the witch riposted with a pointedly raised brow.</p><p>“True enough,” Lyna nodded. “But I generally keep my eyes open and my arms at my side, and I’ve yet to agree with Alistair on much except our faith in Julian and Elissa, so overall I think I’m safe on that front.”</p><p>Morrigan sighed, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Very well,” she conceded, “I will grant that you are, at least, no common fool.” More archly, she added, “You asked if my mother was truly Asha’bellanar? She is. I do not know <em> how </em> she has lived so long, but she is older than this petty kingdom for which there is so much fuss and bother.”</p><p>“It’s not just for the kingdom of Ferelden, you realize?” Lyna pointed out. “Sure, the rest of Thedas would stand a chance if we all ran off to the Tirashan, or if we all die, but if that happens it will be a lot messier, and of all that will be destroyed, the shemlen will suffer the least of all. But,” she grinned, pointing at the witch, “I wanted to talk about you, not the Blight. What was it like, growing up in the Wilds?”</p><p>“A curious question,” Morrigan regarded her. “Did you not do much the same? Though I suppose you had your clan; for many years, in my life there was no one else but Flemeth. The Wilds and its tales were more real to me than the world of the men who lived to the north, or even the Chasind.”</p><p>“In that, I suppose we are alike,” Lyna nodded. “We interacted with shemlen—with humans—only rarely, either to trade or to defend ourselves if hunters or others less well-intentioned stumbled across our camp. I never thought of leaving my clan until… well, until I had to.”</p><p>“Yet you seem to have made the leap quite gracefully,” Morrigan noted with a smile. “The same could not be said for me, I’m afraid, on my first forays out of the Wilds. The world of human civilization is a strange and unforgiving wilderness, and for all my confidence and fearlessness, there was much that Flemeth could never have prepared me for.”</p><p>“And yet you returned?” Lyna inferred. “How daring. That sounds like you.”</p><p>“Equal parts daring and foolhardy, perhaps,” the witch laughed. “Though I was able to pass unnoticed well enough. Only once was I accused of being a Witch of the Wilds, and that by a Chasind who happened to be traveling with a merchant caravan. He pointed and gasped and began shouting in his strange language,” she smirked, “and most assumed <em> he </em> was casting a curse upon me. I played the terrified girl, and naturally he was arrested.”</p><p>“Shemlen fearfulness and the misplaced gallantry of men,” Lyna laughed. “There are no more reliable characteristics, though I would not like to think of how many elves have been more innocent victims of the same impulses. Still, cleverly done.”</p><p>“I had advantages that one of your kind would lack, ‘tis true,” Morrigan acknowledged soberly. “The point being, I was able to move through human lands fairly easily. Whatever humans think a Witch of the Wilds looks like, ‘tis not I.”</p><p>“Unless you’re Daveth,” Lyna remembered with a knowing grin. “Though perhaps that was simply because we were in the Wilds. Maybe if he’d met you in Lothering he’d have been none the wiser.”</p><p>“That is true,” Morrigan agreed. “The more afraid men are to begin with, the more inclined they are to believe everything they encounter to be some frightful beast; and when they feel safe, there is no danger so obvious that it cannot be dismissed as a harmless fancy. Not that I did not have trouble,” she added, returning to her story. “There are things about human society that have always puzzled me. Such as the touching—why all the touching for a simple greeting?”</p><p>“A handshake?” Lyna asked. “I’m not sure where that one comes from, although for us Dalish it was always helpful to know whether or not a shem thought it was beneath him to touch the hands of a dirty elf. An offered hand was always a good sign of a fair deal; otherwise, you had to be on guard for a cheater who’d be just as likely to call the guard or rouse the village if you caught him at it.”</p><p>“A curious custom,” Morrigan observed. “I find such constant contact intrusive. But there were many such nuances that Flemeth could never tell me of: when to look into another’s eyes, how to eat at a table, how to bargain without offending… none of these things I knew. I still do not understand it all, truth be told, but then I gave up long ago any hope of doing so. When last I returned to the Wilds at last, I swore to Flemeth that I had no intention of leaving again.”</p><p>“Well, the joke’s on us,” Lyna observed, not too bitterly. “Though, I suppose… well, a lot of things had to go wrong for us to get here, but I’m at least glad you’re along for the journey, too.”</p><p>The witch hesitated before offering a small smile and nod. “The sentiment is appreciated,” she replied. “Now, let us resume our pace before the others notice and begin to talk, hm?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I should have asked this earlier,” she began, risking a glance away from the stew despite the already-established fact that, for all of her and Julian’s inexperience in cooking, it was the ex-templar initiate’s presence that could cause food to spontaneously overcook into a tasteless mush. </p><p>“What do you need?” Alistair startled, apparently as distracted as she had been, though he seemed to have been looking at her. </p><p>Elissa shook her head; it wasn’t about what she needed, not right now. “I meant to ask,” she said, “if you wanted to talk about Duncan. I understand his loss was difficult for you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that,” Alistair objected, seeming to shrink slightly into himself. “I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.”</p><p>“He was like a—father to you,” Elissa pointed out, trying hard to keep her own emotions in check. “I understand.” Not that <em> understanding </em> quite rose to the occasion, when she still wanted nothing more than to carve Rendon Howe’s heart out with his own dagger and show it to him as he died, but that wasn’t the point, not now. She had Julian and Kallian and Lyna, not to mention a Blight to stop and, right now, a grieving fellow Warden to do her best to support.</p><p>“I… should have handled it better,” Alistair acknowledged with a sigh, and she wondered if Julian’s estimate of her was as charitable as her impression of Alistair, who seemed in her eyes to have taken the death of his best-fit father figure as well as anyone with a heart could expect. “Duncan warned me,” he continued, “right from the beginning, that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn’t have lost it, no when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight and… and everything. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“There’s no need to apologize,” Elissa corrected with a sad, sympathetic smile. “You should have seen me when Lyna and I realized what was happening—I was frozen to the spot, she nearly had to pull me away by the arms. And after… it’s difficult, I know that. You’ve been very strong; I think Duncan would be proud.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Alistair’s lips twitched momentarily. “I’d… like to have a proper funeral for him when this is all over. If we’re still alive, that is. I don’t think he had any family to speak of.”</p><p>“He had you, didn’t he?” Elissa asked. Alistair brightened a little: still sorrowful, but less troubled by that fact.</p><p>“I suppose he did,” he nodded, hesitating. “It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.”</p><p>“I understand the feeling,” Elissa assured him, closing her eyes momentarily. The journey since had helped bury the pain, let her sublimate her grief into duty and vengeance, but helping Alistair address his own was stirring the dregs of her heart again.</p><p>“Of  course, I’d be dead, then, wouldn’t I?” Alistair noted ruefully, shaking his head. “It’s not like that would make him happier. I think,” he added, “that he came from Highever, so he said. Maybe I’ll go up there sometime, see about putting something up in his honor. I don’t know. Have you… well, no, you said before—”</p><p>“My father’s best friend killed him and my entire family,” Elissa said, too abruptly. She had only mentioned her family briefly to Alistair, and was not angry that he had not processed her words in the midst of his own grief, but thinking of them still hurt. “That’s how Duncan recruited me, he saved me from the burning ruin of my family home. I <em> did </em> abandon my parents, I left my father dying and my mother swearing to defend him—because they told me to,” she paused, exhaling shakily, and concluded, more gently, “That’s how I know what you’re going through. What you want to do to Loghain, I want to do to Howe, a thousand times. But in the meantime, we live, and we do what’s right, because that’s what they wanted for us. Vengeance will come, but before and after… that’s the hard part. That’s where we remember them, really.”</p><p>Alistair nodded silently for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said at length, “I… that was a foolish question. But, at the same time,” he sighed, “Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about, at least a little.”</p><p>Elissa smiled weakly and nodded back. “Perhaps I’ll return to Highever with you, when you go. My parents will need to be honored properly, as well, and I think my father would be pleased to have Duncan honored alongside him.”</p><p>“I’d like that,” Alistair said, a more sincere look of life in his expression than he’d had before. “So would he, I think.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title note:<br/>"All that is gold does not glimmer / Not all those who wander are lost" is from the "Riddle of Strider" in The Lord of the Rings, which foretells the restoration of the kings of Gondor.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. In Water Deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alistair slowed as Redcliffe castle came into view, the rugged hills of the northwestern Hinterlands cresting before their rolling descent to the southern edge of Lake Calenhad. </p><p>“Look, can we talk for a moment?” he asked, drawing Julian and Elissa aside. “There’s… something I need to tell you that I… probably should have told you a while ago.”</p><p>“Well, we have only known each other for a few days,” Julian assured him, “No need to worry about not getting everything off your chest already. What did you want to talk about?”</p><p>“Er, let’s see, how do I tell you this?” the knight asked nervously, looking back and forth between them. “We’re almost at Redcliffe. Did I say how I know Arl Eamon, exactly?”</p><p>Elissa nodded. “You said he raised you, right?”  </p><p>“<em> I’m-a-bastard </em>,” Alistar said, the words rushing explosively together out of his mouth. Still speaking quickly, he added, “My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was born. Arl Eamon took me in and raised me before I was sent to the Chantry.” </p><p>He paused for breath and continued, more slowly, “The reason he did that was because… well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.”</p><p>“And makes you the heir to the throne,” Elissa realized, looking at him in amazement. Alistair blanched and shook his head, holding his hands up protectively.</p><p>“Maker, I hope not,” he prayed fervently. “I don’t want to go anywhere near the throne. I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did.”</p><p>Elissa frowned slightly, drawing breath to argue back, and Julian interrupted quickly, smirking as he probed, “So… you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?”</p><p>“I guess I am at that,” Alistair laughed, some of his tension visibly releasing. “I should use that line more often. I would have told you earlier,” he added, more seriously, “but it really never meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule, and so they kept me secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone.”</p><p>“That seems questionable,” Elissa frowned outright. “You have a claim with Cailan dead, but as his half-brother, and younger sibling besides, you could never have challenged him while he lived—at least unless he turned out to be horridly incapable, which for all his love of glory was not the impression I had.”</p><p>“Everyone who knew either resented me for it or coddled me,” Alistair shrugged, waving off her objection. “Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want any of you to know for as long as possible. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I understand your reasoning,” Elissa assured him, and Julian affirmed the sentiment with a nod and a smile. “But if you are Cailan’s brother, that makes you the only obvious contender for the throne besides Loghain’s daughter, Queen Anora. Fergus could win support, if he were alive—even I could, probably, as the last Cousland—but not while Anora’s still popular.”</p><p>“Oh, Maker,” Alistair paled again. “No, please tell me you aren’t suggesting what it sounds like you are.”</p><p>“Only as a last resort, I’m sure,” Julian stepped in again. “If Anora is reasonable, or if we’re able to bring her down along with Loghain, there would be no need for you to stake your claim, and the Theirin line can fade into obscurity. But since Arl Eamon knows, and if there’s a chance Loghain does as well, then this is very much relevant information—so thank you for trusting us with it.”</p><p>“I will do my best to ensure your wishes are respected, Alistair,” Elissa added, meeting his gaze sincerely. “I was raised with great respect for the Theirin dynasty, but if you do not wish to be king, I will not attempt to force you onto the throne.”</p><p>“Good,” Alistair sighed and nodded. “I’m glad. You’d be much better at it, anyhow. As for the rest of the story… Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, despite all the problems it caused with the king, so soon after the war. He loved her a great deal… but she resented the rumors that pegged me as the arl’s bastard. They weren’t true, but of course they existed; he didn’t care, but she did.</p><p>“So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten,” he concluded, “which was just as well. The arlessa made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me at that point. She despised me.”</p><p>“Better than life in the Circle, I’m sure,” Julian offered, waving his hand equivocally. “But still, to mistreat you like that before you were sent off—it certainly fits with what I’ve heard of Orlais.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Alistair shrugged, “I can see now she felt threatened by my presence. She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet, wondered what that would mean for her own children. I remember I had an amulet with Andraste’s symbol on it—the only thing I had of my mother’s. I was so furious at being sent away, I tore it off and threw it at the wall, and it shattered.</p><p>“Stupid, stupid thing to do,” he shook his head, looking at the ground. “The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming.” Definitely better than the Circle, Julian reflected, trying for the first time in years to recall the face of the sad elven woman looking down at him in the faintest echoes of his memory. </p><p>“You were young,” Elissa assured the ex-templar, who cracked a smile.</p><p>“And raised by dogs,” he added—dogs from the Anderfels, he’d joked before, Julian remembered. “Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. All I know,” he added with a shrug, “is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He was also King Cailan’s uncle, so he has a family motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. And… there you have it. Now can we move on,” he added, pasting on his usual self-deprecating grin, “and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>“As you command,” Julian smirked, half-bowing, “my prince.”</p><p>“Ignore him,” Elissa interrupted before Alistair could do more than groan aloud. “If you’re supposed to be some nobody, what does that make me?”</p><p>Alistair grinned again, more genuinely, as he turned to her, ignoring the sarcastic mage. “The reason I say I was lucky.”</p><p>Elissa returned the smile and clasped his hand reassuringly. “Thank you again for telling us this,” she repeated. “It is alright if we tell the others, yes? If it’s likely to come up, they deserve to know.”</p><p>He sighed and nodded. “As long as they know not to take it seriously,” he conceded. “On the subject of which, I suppose we should get moving again, and, you know, actually get to Redcliffe.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As they drew near to the gates of the village, a young man carrying a bow and wearing simple boiled leathers came running toward them, waving. </p><p>“I… I thought I saw travelers coming down the road,” he panted, his hands on his knees, “though I scarcely believed it. I’m Tomas, of Redcliffe. Have you come to help us?”</p><p>“To help?” Julian frowned, stepping forward. “To help with what?”</p><p>“So you… don’t know?” Tomas asked, wide-eyed. “Has nobody out there heard?”</p><p>“We’ve heard that Arl Eamon is sick,” the mage offered, “but I take it something else has happened.”</p><p>‘The arl could be dead, for all we know!” Tomas exclaimed, drawing quiet gasps from the Wardens and their company. “Nobody’s heard from the castle in days. We’re under attack: monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone’s been fighting… and dying.”</p><p>“Apparently,” Morrigan observed, as dry as a hot coal, “everyone agrees that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really.”</p><p>“We’ve no army to defend us,” Tomas pressed, “no arl, and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they’re next.”</p><p>“Hold on,” Alistair interjected, “What <em> is </em> this evil that’s attacking you?”</p><p>“Demons, probably,” Julian mused. “It usually is, as I understand it, although what kind of demons and how they’ve gotten a foothold in the physical world does make rather a lot of difference in fighting them.”</p><p>“I… don’t rightly know,” Tomas apologized. “Nobody does. I should take you to Bann Teagan; he’s all that’s holding us together. He’ll want to see you.”</p><p>Redcliffe village was built half into the steep clay hills that ringed the southern extremity of Lake Calenhad and gave both castle and village their name; the other half extended on stilts out over the shallows of the lake. The functional center of the town occupied the small mostly level area between the hill and the lake, and had been ringed with barricades while several men practiced with bows across most of the width of the square.</p><p>Tomas led them to the village chantry; Julian and Morrigan tensed as they approached the building, but the only Templar in sight had been a single man standing with a group of ordinary knights as they passed the windmill, and the only cleric to be seen was Leliana. </p><p>Bann Teagan was a brown-haired, well-built man with kind, tired eyes, holding court at the rear of the Chantry in finely made but structurally simple clothes. He exchanged bows with a villager and caught sight of their approach, turning to greet them and exchanging words with Tomas with an expression of weary hope. </p><p>“Well done, Tomas,” he told the villager, before shifting his attention to the Wardens. “Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl.”</p><p>“I remember you, Bann Teagan,” Alistair spoke up with a smile, “though last time we met I was a lot younger and… covered in mud.”</p><p>“Covered in mud?” The bann repeated, surprised, his expression focusing before he smiled widely in recognition. “Alistair? It is you, isn’t it? You’re alive! This is wonderful news!”</p><p>“Still alive, yes,” Alistair agreed, “though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Teagan’s expression darkened. “Loghain would have us all believe the Grey Wardens died along with my nephew… amongst other things.”</p><p>“Then I gather you do not believe the teyrn’s lies?” Elissa asked.</p><p>“What, that he pulled his men in order to save them?” Teagan scoffed. “That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king; I don’t believe it. It is the act of a desperate man. So… you all are Grey Wardens as well? It is a pleasure to meet you—though I wish it were under better circumstances.”</p><p>“Alas, King Cailan was rather insistent on his glorious charge,” Elissa informed the bann, “although it was ultimately Teyrn Loghain’s plan that put the king and most of the Grey Wardens on the front line, awaiting a flanking charge that he never saw fit to deliver. In light of all of which, we were hoping to speak to Arl Eamon, to secure his support in clearing the Wardens’ name and organizing an army to strike at the archdemon.”</p><p>“That does make sense,” Teagan granted with a nod. “Unfortunately, my brother is gravely ill… and on top of that, no one has heard from the castle at all in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts. The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil… <em> things </em> surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault.”</p><p>“We heard, yes,” Julian said, frowning as he tapped his staff with one finger. “What <em> sort </em> of evil things, exactly?”</p><p>“Some call them the walking dead,” the bann replied with a grimace, “Decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh… they hit again the next night, and the night after. Every night they come, each time with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my calls for help. I have a feeling tonight’s assault will be the worst yet. Alistair,” he looked pleadingly to his brother’s ward, “I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends.”</p><p>“It’s not just up to me,” Alistair objected, looking to Julian and Elissa, “Though the Grey Wardens don’t stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon.”</p><p>“Of course we’ll help,” Julian assured the two. Morrigan scoffed.</p><p>“How pointless,” the Wilds witch complained, “to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere.”</p><p>“The witch is correct,” Sten added, folding his arms. “There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to be gained. It is a fool’s errand.”</p><p>“Pointless?” Julian rejoined immediately, fixing Morrigan with a hard look, “Beyond this village, we face an even larger, more impossible battle, for which we will need Arl Eamon’s aid. Do you imagine we’ll be able to assemble an army of mages and Dalish elves in the middle of a country that calls us outlaws? Never mind recruiting the human forces that weren’t at Ostagar, we <em> need </em> the recognition of the crown, and for <em> that, </em> we need Arl Eamon.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Bann Teagan bowed sincerely as the witch sighed and backed down. “Thank you. This… means more to me than you can guess. Tomas, please tell Murdock what transpired, then return to your post. There is much to do,” he added to the Wardens, “before night falls. I’ve put two men in charge of the defense outside: the village mayor Murdock, is just outside the chantry, and Ser Perth, one of Eamon’s knights, is up the cliff by the windmill, watching the castle. Speak to them to discuss preparations for the battle.”</p><p>“Thank you, Bann Teagan,” Elissa bowed, then turned to the rest of the company, and they divided points of interest among themselves: Elissa would take Sten and Alistair and speak to Ser Perth, while Julian, Lyna, and Morrigan would go to Murdock—sending a few of their number up to the bridge if they proved unnecessary in the village—and Kallian and Leliana would keep their ears open among the villagers and ensure that no opportunities were missed on account of the leaders’ ignorance.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As Julian, Elissa, and the rest of their companions headed swiftly out of the Chantry, Kallian and Leliana lagged behind, ears open as they wandered past the villagers who were unfit to fight as they fearfully prepared for another night of hiding. As they neared the doors, a loudly sobbing young woman caught their attention: clearly distressed, but just as clearly not suffering from the same simple terror as those around her.</p><p>“Can we help you, miss?” Leliana approached first, though she kept herself positioned in a way that clearly communicated her deference to Kallian. The weeping woman looked up in surprise and stepped back.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, apologetic despite her tears. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”</p><p>“We were only passing by,” Kallian assured her, “but we wanted to know what’s wrong, and if we could help at all.”</p><p>“It’s my brother, Bevin!” the woman cried, wrapping her arms around herself. “He’s run off and I can’t find him! They—Those things dragged our mother away. I don’t know what happened to her, but I can hear her screaming all the time, everywhere and—and now Bevin’s gone and I’m so scared they got him, too!”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Kallian promised, gently placing a hand on her arm, “We’re Grey Wardens, and we’re securing the village before nightfall. We’ll find your brother and make sure you all make it through the night, alright?”</p><p>The woman sniffled and nodded, unfolding her arms to grasp Kallian’s hand. “Thank you, ser,” she said, holding the elf tightly. “I—I’m Kaitlyn. My brother is Bevin, like I said…. He said something about saving Mother. He’s so young, he doesn’t understand she’s gone! Oh, Maker, I hope he didn’t try to go to the castle, that would be awful!”</p><p>“There’s near half a dozen knights guarding the bridge,” Kallian assured her, “They won’t have let him get across even if he did try to go that way. Where’s your house, and where else might he have gone?”</p><p>Kaitlyn nearly burst into tears again, as she hadn’t been able to locate Bevin in their house or elsewhere in the village, but Kallian promised again to find her brother and set out with Leliana in tow, the Chantry sister smiling at their new endeavor.</p><p>Finding the orphaned siblings’ house was simple enough, as it was one of the more easily accessible buildings among the tangle of houses and wooden paths over the shallows. Almost as soon as she set foot in the dwelling, Kallian’s sharp ears picked up a shuffling noise from inside the large dresser that dominated the room. She approached softly, catching a short, surprised breath before the signs of movement ceased.</p><p>“Hello?” she called, gently. “Is someone in there?”</p><p>“Go ‘way!” the dresser—or rather, its occupant—shouted quietly, in a tearful child’s voice. “This isn’t your home! This is my home! My home! You hear me?”</p><p>“Bevin, is that you?” Kallian replied calmly. “Your sister is very worried about you.”</p><p>“Did—did she tell you to take me back to the chantry?” Bevin complained. “Don’t make me go back there! I hate that place, I hate it!”</p><p>“What’s wrong with the chantry, Bevin?” Kallian asked. The Chantry might have plenty wrong with it, but the scared shem child needed to go back to his sister in the village chantry, which, whatever the quality of the local priests, was a sturdy building in the center of town.</p><p>“Everybody’s scared,” Bevin answered, shifting audibly again, “but they tell me I shouldn’t be scared. And they tell me I shouldn’t be sad that Mother died. I d—I don’t want to be sad! I’m brave! I’m going to be a hero! I’m going to fight them off, I will!”</p><p>Kallian smiled despite herself at the sound of a small fist hitting the dresser door, and she asked, pointedly but lightly, “From in there?” </p><p>Bevin mumbled an ashamed reply and the door creaked open, revealing a human child who came up not quite to Kallian’s waist. “All right, I came out,” he said. “You won’t hurt me, will you? I’ll go back to the chantry if you really want.”</p><p>“Of course I won’t hurt you,” Kallian smiled down at him, kneeling to look him in the eye and take his hand, “But it’s not about me. It’s about you and your sister—it’s not safe for you out here, and your sister’s scared witless not knowing what’s become of you, right?”</p><p>“R-right,” Bevin nodded uneasily. “I just… I didn’t want to be scared anymore. Everyone’s scared in the chantry, and I wanted to be brave.”</p><p>“So what were you doing in there?” Kallian raised an eyebrow at the child, and he frowned.</p><p>“I—I can’t tell you,” he shook his head insistently. “It’s a <em> secret </em>.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” she gave him her best conspiratorial smile. “Maybe I could help you.”</p><p>“You… could?” Bevin looked at her askance, but nodded. “Alright, I guess. It’s… Father said I could have his sword when I grew up. It was Grandfather’s, and Grandfather was a great dragon-slayer. I thought… if I was brave like Grandfather, I could use his sword and… kill the bad people who took mother.”</p><p>“Well, far be it from me to say someone can’t be brave and get revenge,” Kallian grinned, clapping his shoulder, “but aren’t you a little young to fight?”</p><p>“No!” Bevin protested immediately, then sagged. “Well… maybe. The sword was too heavy for me. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Kallian assured him, “You’ll grow into it eventually. But for tonight, I need you to stay with your sister, alright? I’m a Grey Warden, and there’s four more of us plus a powerful witch and a qunari warrior, all fighting to protect this village, and tomorrow we’re going to go into the castle and face whatever’s gone wrong there, and make sure this doesn’t happen again, right?”</p><p>The boy agreed and, haltingly, handed over the key to the chest in which his father’s sword was kept. Kallian drew in an astonished breath at the workmanship of the shimmering green blade—one-handed, single-edged, and weighted for cutting and piercing equally—and Leliana gasped aloud.</p><p>“That is elven-made,” the lay sister observed in amazement. “Kallian, you should use it tonight. I will borrow your sword, no?”</p><p>“Of course,” Kallian agreed. “Assuming your sister is alright with my borrowing it, of course,” she added apologetically to Bevin. </p><p>Of course, Kaitlyn was beside herself with gratitude when they returned with her brother, and eagerly assented to Kallian’s temporary use of the sword.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title note:<br/>"There lies his crown in water deep / 'Till Durin wakes again from sleep" is another LotR poem (song, in this case) foretelling the return of a king; although the water in question is the famously reflective pool Mirrormere, it feels appropriate to Alistair's return to Redcliffe, where the secret of his birth has long been kept, as well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. A Time to Stand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elissa found Ser Perth exactly where she had been told to expect him, with forces exactly as dismal as Ser Donnell’s words in Lothering had led her to fear. Only four full knights, it seemed, had either remained in Redcliffe or heard of the town’s further troubles and returned; fortunately, she could see at a glance that those few men were nonetheless well-trained and well-armed.</p><p>She could see far more, as well: the peak of the steep hill that lead toward Redcliffe castle afforded nearly as commanding a vista as the high, lakebound rock on which the castle stood, showing the lake stretching northward beyond the horizon, and toward the narrows between the mainland and the castle she could make out beached birlins and cogs at anchor, and felt a sudden stab of longing for the sight and smells of Highever port, and the wind off the Waking Sea.</p><p>“Greetings, Grey Warden,” their leader hailed her as she and her companions approached. Tomas had identified them, she supposed, as Perth continued, “I am as relieved as Bann Teagan is to see you here. I must admit,” he added with a small frown, “I do not know quite how to address you. Is ‘my lady’ sufficient?”</p><p>“You are Ser Perth, correct? I am Lady Elissa Cousland, second daughter of Teyrn Bryce of Highever,” Elissa introduced herself in reply, subtly adopting the regal bearing her mother had tried to make instinctual for her—adding, with a sigh, “I have forsaken my family seat, however, in the service of the Grey Wardens, and whatever happens, to the traitor Howe or any of us, I doubt I shall return. I am a Grey Warden, and you may address me as such, ser knight.”</p><p>“Grey Warden it is, then,” Ser Perth bowed, “and thank you kindly. I am indeed Ser Perth, until recently in direct service of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. For now, my charge is defending the village from these evil assaults. Would that I had chosen not to seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes,” he lamented, “perhaps I could have fended off whatever ill befell the castle… or perhaps I would be dead.</p><p>“Ah, well,” he sighed, glancing aside momentarily, “With a Grey Warden aiding our defense, perhaps all is not lost.”</p><p>“Five Wardens, Ser Perth, not only me,” Elissa informed him, gesturing to the warriors beside her. “This is Alistair, and our comrades in the village are a mage and two elves, quicker and sharper with blade and bow than any I have met before. There is a second mage in our company, as well, and this here is Sten of the Qunari vanguard. Redcliffe village shall not fall tonight—but, if there is anything we may do to assist you in your own preparations, we would be glad to do it.”</p><p>Perth bowed again in thanks, but assured her that he and his fellows were well-equipped. However, he added, “My knights are too few to stand against the monsters without assistance. Your own company will be beyond welcome, but… perhaps,” he suggested cautiously, “you could approach Mother Hannah in the chantry for some holy protection against these evil creatures? Otherwise, I do not know what else you could provide beyond your own talents. We are as prepared for the coming onslaught as we could possibly be, all things considered.”</p><p>“Then we shall return to the village,” Elissa nodded, “and I will see what we can do. You are certain there is no other aid we might offer, before the battle?”</p><p>“Nothing I can think of,” Perth assured her. “If you have not spoken to Mayor Murdock, you should. His militia is far more in need of aid than we are.”</p><p>“Julian and the others are doing so as we speak,” Elissa promised. “But, if you are prepared, we shall see what assistance the three of us can lend, as well. Carry on, Ser Perth, and Maker watch over you.”</p><p>As she turned back down the hill, Elissa reflected that it would be a good thing indeed if the Maker truly were watching over them. With forces this ill-prepared, beaten down, and with nothing but holy amulets to place their trust in—enchantment was one thing, but no priest would be caught dead working magic that worked, even if that wouldn’t see her locked instantly in a Circle or worse—and, she realized, Julian was rubbing off on her.</p><p>Would the Maker watch over them all, indeed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I find it interesting, Julian,” Morrigan observed, once the warriors were out of hearing, “that you directed your earlier argument at me, with little regard for the qunari. ‘Tis surprising to be so selective, for one so sensitive to the opinions of others.”</p><p>“I don’t care what the qunari thinks,” Julian replied, over his shoulder, as he headed for the mayor. “Especially as I’ve yet to see any evidence that he actually does.”</p><p>The half-elf mage kept a quick pace that overran any further efforts at conversation, almost daring the witch or the world to challenge him as he bustled through the village square.</p><p>Murdock was a tall, well-built man with an abundance of dark hair, clad in a leather vest and carrying a bow and quiver as he supervised the archers practicing outside the chantry. His expression was dour, made to look more so by his heavy moustache and thick brows, but Julian could only imagine the recent experiences that had given the man to such a look: as Redcliffe’s mayor, he no doubt felt particularly responsible—and, perhaps, betrayed—over the horrors that had been inflicted on them for the last days.</p><p>“So you’re the Grey Wardens, then?” he asked. “I heard they all died with the king.”</p><p>“Are you sure you didn’t hear we killed the king?” Julian asked, half genuinely curious. Murdock grumbled in reply, but pointed out that he was in no position to reject aid, and hesitantly accepted Julian’s assurance that they would defeat the looming evil. </p><p>The chief obstacles, it seemed, were that Owen, the town blacksmith, had shut himself in his forge out of grief for his missing daughter, while a dwarven merchant called Dwyn had locked <em> himself </em> and his two bodyguards in his home by the lake. Owen was needed to repair the militia’s equipment, and Murdock wanted the dwarf, an experienced warrior, and his trained men in the fight; after quick consultation, Julian went to speak to Owen alone while Lyna and Morrigan did their best to intimidate Dwyn into submission.</p><p>The blacksmith’s forge stood near the center of town, built directly against the side of the cliff that towered over the shore. The door, as Murdock had said, was locked, so Julian decided to begin courteously and delivered three heavy knocks to the strong wood. </p><p>“Who’s there?” The response came in a thickened voice, streaked with anger and recent tears. </p><p>“My name is Julian,” the mage called, standing close to the door. “I’d prefer not to talk through a closed door, though. I don’t suppose we could have this conversation face-to-face?”</p><p>A heavy sigh rumbled from behind the door, but a moment later the staunch oak planks swung inward, and Julian stepped through the doorway into a forge that reeked of strong drink. Clearly, he thought, Owen had been taking his daughter’s disappearance hard—and why shouldn’t he? The problem was simply that his actions in response to that grief were endangering the girl’s best hope of being found alive, along with the general village’s odds of survival. </p><p>“Owen, yes?” It was somewhat awkward to call on his acting skills while also expressing genuine sincerity, but he needed the blacksmith to <em> see </em> that he was sincere. </p><p>It worked, fortunately. The blacksmith wiped his eyes and told him what had happened, how the castle had been overtaken by the mysterious evil and then begun issuing out corpses to attack the village, with no word or sign from Valena, who served the arlessa as a maid. The situation, to Julian’s mind, seemed dire, but if anyone was still alive within the castle it was possible that others were as well. Whether Eamon could be moved or not, the evil would have to be purged, and then—if not before—there could be a full examination of the castle to account completely for the living and the dead.</p><p>“I am a mage and a Grey Warden,” he said, seriously, looking Owen in his red-rimmed eyes. “In my company are four other Wardens, all powerful fighters, experienced in all manner of combat; another mage, as strong as myself; and a qunari ranger, as powerful as ten men of this village at once. With your own fellows at our side, I vow to you, no one who yet lives shall be lost to this evil. And when we go to the castle tomorrow to end this threat forever, if your daughter is alive, I shall ensure she comes back safe and whole… but first, we all must live to see tomorrow, and that means the militia needs your work. Agreed?”</p><p>The blacksmith inhaled deeply and nodded, breathing out slowly and shakily, but with commitment in his gaze. </p><p>“I’ll hold you to that, Warden,” he rumbled as he hefted his hammer, loosening his limbs in preparation to work the forge. </p><p>“I would expect nothing less,” Julian nodded formally, seriously, and turned to the door. “I’ll see you in the square at sundown.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>While Julian went to play diplomat with the grief-stricken blacksmith—a role he seemed oddly suited to, Lyna noted, for a half-elven mage in a world of magic-fearing shems—Lyna took the last remaining and most caustic member of their party to put the fear of the Maker, or the Stone, or perhaps of a good face-melting into the resident dwarven copper-pincher. </p><p>Dwyn’s house was one of the farthest out into the lake—built, as all the waterward half of Redcliffe was, above the shallows, but where the water was deep enough that a rowboat with passengers small enough to fit below the stilts could navigate the place with ease. Of course, it was also built along the wooden streets that covered those same shallows, the shadows of which allowed little to grow beneath.</p><p>It was, Lyna admitted, honestly remarkable, but she hadn’t the time to comment on feats of rural shemlen engineering. The craftsmen of her own clan could have formed the planks more smoothly, the joints more finely, but then these people could not fall back on thousand-year-old traditions. The Dalish archer shook her head, hearing Morrigan chuckle behind her as if she’d heard her thoughts, and strode up to the dwarf’s door before she could find herself being understanding of shemlen villagers again.</p><p>“Hello?” she called, not particularly expecting a response; unsurprisingly, none came. She rapped sharply on the door, to equal effect, then shrugged and nodded to Morrigan. The mage stepped forward and gestured sharply, conjuring a blast of invisible force that struck the door back off its hinges to reveal a scowling dwarf and a pair of well-armed shems.</p><p>“Wonderful,” the dwarf groused, “Intruders. I hope you’ve a good reason for breaking into my home.”</p><p>As Lyna's hound, Suledin, brushed against her legs, Morrigan smirked, conjuring a wisp of flame in her outstretched hand. “Are you certain that’s the tone you wish to take with a mage, dwarf?”</p><p>Dwyn blanched. Resistant though dwarves were to magic, no living creature in the world save a dragon was particularly resistant to being bathed in fire, whether that fire was magic or mundane in origin, and the shallows beneath the merchant’s feet were deep enough that a badly roasted dwarf would have a difficult time reaching safety if the floor burned out beneath him.</p><p>“Alright, alright, no need to get unpleasant,” he groused, raising his hands protectively, though still looking at them both with as much distaste as he could muster. “In the interest of keeping my face from bursting into flame: The name’s Dwyn. Pleased to meet you. Now, kindly tell me why you’re here.”</p><p>Lyna stepped forward, arms crossed as she looked down on the dwarf—an unusual experience for her, but the inches between them were enough for her purpose—and explained, “Murdock wants you for the militia. The Grey Wardens want Arl Eamon’s support against the Blight and its shemlen proxies. Therefore, the Grey Wardens have decided you’re joining Murdock’s militia.”</p><p>“Grey Wardens?” Dwyn scoffed. “I left that tripe behind when I left Orzammar, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told Murdock: I’m not risking my neck for this town.”</p><p>Suledin growled quietly, and Morrigan pursed her lips, beginning to gesture again, but Lyna shook her head minutely, regarding the dwarf for a laden moment. Then the Dalish hunter sighed quietly and moved her arms to her hips, the fingers of her left hand dancing over the hilt of her longest knife. </p><p>“No,” she agreed, “You aren’t. You’re risking your neck against the walking dead because otherwise I’ll cut it open here and now. Understood?”</p><p>Dwyn’s gaze flickered back and forth, from Lyna’s foot-long Dalish knife—still in its sheath, though if he knew anything of her people that wouldn’t reassure him—to Suledin, to Morrigan, her right hand hovering at waist level, fingers held loosely together, and grunted.</p><p>“So that’s the choice, eh? Fine,” he threw up his hands, turning to the chest behind him. “You want me so badly, I’ll be out there.”</p><p>Lyna smiled sharply. “Good man.”</p><p>“Spoken like someone who doesn’t know me very well,” Dwyn muttered, studiously keeping his back to the two women. Lyna released her dagger and waved to his mercenaries, and she, her hound, and the witch left the dwarf to his equipage before they could hear the last of his remarks.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Kallian leaned against the bar, picking contemplatively at her nails with the same hand’s thumb. Picking apart Loghain’s spy Berwick had been easy enough, especially with Leliana at her side, and she’d sent the man down to join the militia once they’d determined he had no active part in whatever was happening. Julian’s casual comments about demons being responsible had her on edge, but neither he nor Morrigan had said more, and she chose to assume that meant the animated bodies would be the only immediate threat for the time being.</p><p>“So,” she said conversationally, when the bartender—Lloyd, according to the tired maid, Bella—finally turned her way, “I hear you’re gouging the militia right before the fight of their lives.”</p><p>“What—Gouging?” Lloyd sputtered. “Those men may not have much coin, but I’m not giving away my stocks for free! These are dangerous times!”</p><p>“True enough,” Kallian nodded, smiling, as she conspicuously dropped one hand below the level of the counter. “Of course, all that money won’t be much help to a dead man.”</p><p>Lloyd rocked back defensively, raising his hands as if to ward her off. She smirked; there were at least three ways to move that would allow her to slash his throat without scratching his arms or leaving her seat, but as long as he didn’t realize he was hardly worth the effort, he’d remain that way.</p><p>“Hey, now, there’s no need for that,” he whimpered, dropping his voice as if he thought a loud sound might startle her into striking. “That’s murder!”</p><p>“Astute,” Kallian leaned forward, forcing him to meet her gaze. A man who could rely on his fellow shems would have summoned the milita to wring her neck; the way Lloyd folded had confirmed her previous estimation. “Would anyone miss you?”</p><p>The fat barkeeper withered under her look. “Er… look, here! Eighty silvers,” he stammered, holding up his coin purse. “I could—could, er, pay you to… protect me? There’s no—no need for any… unpleasantness, please.”</p><p>Kallian cocked her head, flipping her hair behind her shoulder with the hand that wasn’t feinting for her knife. Her pulse was thundering; she’d never made such a brazen play, and despite the obvious falsity of the statement her smile sharpened as she added, “I’d only protect something I own, shem. Understand me?”</p><p>Lloyd nodded frantically, snatching up a sheet of parchment, and a few scribbles later—overseen with heavily Orlesian-accented commentary from Leliana, who almost killed the barman with fright when she materialized at his other shoulder—Kallian was wealthier by not only eighty silvers but an entire tavern as well. </p><p>“I knew we could work something out,” Kallian smiled, rising from her barstool with a condescending nod. “Now, how about a round of drinks for the locals, and a good meal for the Grey Wardens who are about to save this entire town, hm? Before we—<em> all </em> of us—go down to the square to prepare for battle.”</p><p>The newly former tavern-owner blubbered a bit more at that, but as Kallian fixed him with another cutting look, the tavern door swung open to admit the rest of the Wardens and their companions, led by Julian and Elissa. The city elf waved her friends over, introducing Lloyd as the tavern’s manager and praising his care for the militia and decision to volunteer for the last battle.</p><p>The two leading Wardens exchanged a look at Kallian’s tone, and didn’t miss Lloyd’s flinch when Lyna hoisted herself up to sit beside Kallian. Leliana was escorting Alistair and their other companions to the long table, and Elissa clasped one of her hands around Lyna’s as Julian leaned in between the two elves.</p><p>“Normally, I’d encourage a sedentary fellow like you to keep out of harm’s way,” he observed, resting his forearm against Kallian’s, “but for a man of your… character, I imagine we can make an exception.”</p><p>“Uh—Of course, ser Warden,” Lloyd stammered, his eyes fairly glued to the countertop, flickering nervously between each of their hands. “These are dangerous times, after all. We’ve all… we’ve all got to do what’s necessary for our, er, fellow beings, and all. No use having a trade if you, er, if the world falls apart around you, after all.”</p><p>“Good man.” Julian smiled sharply, clasping Kallian’s hand as he stood back and gave a shallow bow. As they turned toward the long table, he leaned down to murmur, “So, I gather your afternoon was a good deal more interesting than mine.”</p><p>Kallian laughed, clear and earnestly, as she stepped forward to guide him, Elissa, and Lyna to the table. </p><p>“And I’ll tell you all about it while Lloyd prepares the meal,” she promised, giving a sweeping bow of her own. “After all, it would be terribly rude not to entertain my personal guests in my very own tavern.”</p><p>“Hah!” Lyna scoffed as she sat down. “I knew that shem had a look like you were Fen'Harel. What’d he do to earn your wrath, hm?”</p><p>“Presumably, he behaved in the manner typical to such men in towns as these,” Morrigan drawled, leaning in from her spot between Julian and Sten. “Our fair rascal is growing into the power she wields, and he held less than his imagined… stature led him to think he did. Is that not so?”</p><p>Kallian’s lip twitched at the wilds witch’s description; the mage was often inappropriately callous and misleadingly cynical, but here and now, at least, her guess was quite accurate. </p><p>“Still,” Alistair frowned, “forcing him to come fight seems… extreme. He’s out of shape, probably has even less training than most of the militia. He’ll almost certainly die.”</p><p>Kallian shrugged, pausing as Bella deposited a large tray of mugs on the table, everyone present ignoring Sten’s muttered comments about weak southern ale; once the young woman had gone, she replied, “If he manages to get himself in a position like that with the eight of us forming the vanguard, I’m not sure I care. I’ll give Bella the run of the place and not have to pay extra to give her a fresh start away from him.”</p><p>Sten grunted, thumping his empty mug against the table. “He is weak and cowardly, with an inflated ego. He will be unable to remain in the line of battle, and unwilling to retreat once engaged. If he survives the battle, I will learn to make cookies and present some to him.”</p><p>Leliana spat her ale back into her mug, and Sten frowned sternly. “I say this because it will not happen.”</p><p><em> “Sof-tie,” </em> the bard sang under her breath. Kallian sighed and looked to Lyna and Julian, who subtly raised their ales in her direction. Alistair had a point, most likely, but she was hardly about to let the barman cower while the men he’d done his best to part from every copper risked their lives… and, she thought, leaning briefly against Julian as Bella returned with Lloyd’s best effort at a meal, the oaf really wasn’t worth her concern. </p><p>Morrigan and Sten might be strange, she reflected, and Alistair perhaps a little dull, but the bond among the four Wardens who had traveled together to Ostagar went well beyond a pleasant night in the woods. She would follow the mage and the knight to the end of the world, and so would Lyna… and in time, she suspected, the same would be true of all the others they drew into their wake, as well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Character bonds! Or something.<br/>This chapter, yeesh. First it didn't want to get written, then it didn't want to end. Next up: the first real fight since Ostagar, now with three more fighters (or </p><p>Title note: Fairly straightforward this time; the phrase itself was taken from another Star Trek episode, this one from DS9.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Night Terrors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Grey Wardens, their companions, and the fighting men and women of Redcliffe assumed their positions as dusk gathered, and the last defenses were well in place as night finally fell, tension palpable among the villagers. Even the knights showed greater evidence of the strain they had been under, muttering to themselves and touching the pendants given by Mother Hevara, though it was not only her involvement in procuring the tokens that caused Elissa to place greater faith in their heavy plate and mail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tension grew steadily among the villagers and knights as the sun descended behind the steep hills of Lake Calenhad, the shadow of the castle inching steadily across the lake and town as if to presage what would shortly issue forth. Elissa, with Julian and Alistair’s aid, sought to alleviate their anticipation by organizing Redcliffe’s defenders in advance, gathering the knights and archers by the windmill where the road from the castle bridge turned down a shallow ravine, forming a bottleneck more easily encircled at its end than the open ground at the top of the cliff. About half the militia were with them, including all those who could use a bow, while the rest remained with Murdock as a backstop in the village square. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a very defensible village, is it,” Julian murmured, casting his gaze across the steep clay slopes that towered over the lakeside Chantry. “Of course, I’ve read that in Nevarra the towns are almost all built like Denerim, gathered up around the… </span>
  <em>
    <span>acropolis</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I think they call it. Not much good for holding off an assault from within your own palace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No decent fortifications would be,” Elissa noted with a grim smile. “Redcliffe Castle’s supposed to be impenetrable, though it’s fallen at least three times since the days of Calenhad. I won’t begin to count the circumstances that are working in our favor at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mage nodded somberly and checked his belt pouches, counting the lyrium and healing potions at his hip. After dealing with the town blacksmith, he’d spent some time preparing all the potions he could with their available supplies—not only for his own use, but stamina potions as well, to see the defenders through the long night with their senses and reactions sharp. The attitudes of the militia in the tavern had suggested the dead were poor fighters individually, but the Wardens knew well that stubbornness was its own power, and sufficient exhaustion could tilt any scale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we’re prepared this time,” Julian observed, pursing his lips, and Elissa’s heart clenched at the reminder. She curled her mailed fist tightly and nodded, turning toward the fortified road to the castle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded slowly, unclenching her fist and resting her hand on the hilt of her family sword. “Prepared, organized, and stronger in number,” she agreed. “There are only so many people who could have been in the castle or taken in the raids so far, and if they act more like walking corpses than… well, actual warriors, we should have no problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will be harder than that, I think,” Julian hedged, gesturing to the preparing villagers, “Or the townsfolk would have fared better on their own. Still, you’re probably right. An outright tear in the Veil would look a lot worse than this, and if there’s just one demon behind it all then it shouldn’t be able to throw quantity </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> quality at us. It could still go wrong,” he frowned, fingers worrying along his staff, “but that’s my guess. The castle itself will be another story, but we’re in a good position for tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thinking about Ostagar?” Alistair asked quietly, having sidled up next to them as they spoke. Julian started mildly and Elissa suppressed a laugh at his expense; the mage got on well enough with the deferential senior Warden, but he still carried a subtle tension around the former templar recruit, though it showed itself only on rare occasions like this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Castle Cousland, actually,” she replied instead, nodding toward the haunted fortress across the ravine. “But… Ostagar, too, I suppose. There are certainly enough parallels either way. But we’re well-prepared this time, and there are fewer moving pieces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Alistair nodded, seeming to lean on her words. “It is pretty simple, isn’t it? Anyways, Kallian said they’ve got the oil all set up, tripwires and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In good time, too,” Julian noted, his gaze flicking again to Redcliffe Castle. The famous bastion was a black shadow in the evening sky, every window dark as the sun fell at last behind the hills. “May as well take our positions. It won’t be long now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.” Elissa turned and offered an informal salute, hand over her heart, and the mage bowed in return. “Best of luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alistair at her side, Elissa strode toward the barricades, catching the eyes of each of her companions as the lingering daylight waned. Before long, all was dark and still—until, of a sudden, fearful gasps rose from the townsfolk, who pointed, wide-eyed, toward the bridge across the deep, narrow ravine that separated Redcliffe Castle from the mainland. There, a trail of luminous green vapor rose from the bridge, its progress betraying the swift advance of the marauding dead as they descended from the storied castle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No surprisingly helpful abominations of legend had, in any myth Elissa had ever heard, been created out of treacherous murder within the walls of Redcliffe Castle, but this horror eclipsed any stories that had been told about the bloody past of the site of Castle Cousland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Archers! Stand ready!” she called, her voice clear and steady as she had not felt in over a month. The first of the undead reached the end of the bridge and disappeared behind the rise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nock your arrows!” she commanded, as the first horrors rounded the bend. There was just one, at first, and at her nod Julian caught it in a burst of ice, what he called a Winter’s Grasp. Soon enough, though, there followed a second and a third, and on her order, the village archers drew and loosed, and a hail of shafts tipped with iron buried themselves in the crowd of corpses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corpses were tenacious, however, and for every one that had been damaged beyond the demon’s ability to make use of it—at this distance, at least—there were two that staggered on, heedless of the wooden rods protruding from its chest and arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian, now!” At her command, the mage raised his staff and let loose a single bolt of flame—which struck the barrels of oil they and the villagers had positioned that afternoon. Julian’s spell exploded against the barrel, causing it to erupt in a burst of flaming splinters and oil, splattering the advancing bodies and coating the end of the road in fire. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kallian ducked forward, advancing past the knights, as the first of the undead staggered through the flames. A sweep of the green blade loaned by the villager split the creature’s legs at the knees, and her follow-through took off one arm and its head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More followed, in threes and fives, and Kallian settled into a comfortable rotation with Alistair, Elissa, and Sten as they struck down waves of corpses, then fell back to let Perth and his knights have their turn, while Lyna, the archers, and Julian and Morrigan ensured none slipped through the gaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, she was beginning to feel, almost too easy. True, there was as many Grey Wardens guarding the pass as knights, not counting Sten and the Witch of the Wilds, but if the villagers had any resolve at all they should have been able to give a bolder showing themselves—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ducked a mace held in a rotting hand before severing the offending limb before the remainder of the corpse was enveloped in a sheet of ice and shattered. Julian waved apologetically before moving on, and Kallian realized that the latest wave of bodies was larger than the ones that had come before, allowing a few of the corpses to push past the knights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing just long enough to scold herself for losing focus, Kallian hefted her borrowed sword again and slipped between two knights, hamstringing one corpse with the green-tinged blade and driving her dagger through the back of another’s neck. She twisted to avoid another mace-blow and fell back as Alistair bashed the body responsible and moved in to finish it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fire’s a nice touch,” he observed as he did so, a strained grin visible beneath his helm, “but it would be nice if they didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep</span>
  </em>
  <span> burning, eh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another lull, so Kallian paused to down a stamina potion, shrugging as she did so. Wiping her mouth on the inside of her sleeve, she replied, “More of a problem for me than for you, isn’t it? The stench is something awful, though. Maker,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach, “these were all innocent people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A series of emotions flickered across the exposed part of Alistair’s face—surprise, solemnity, sadness—before he nodded slowly and recalled, “I probably knew some of them growing up. But we can’t think of it like that, not now. These are just—just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He foundered for a moment, and Kallian stepped in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just bodies,” she supplied, and he nodded. “Bodies that whatever’s in the castle is perverting for its own ends. They’ll get the proper rites when we’re finished here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Alistair agreed, hefting his shield again and advancing on another burning body. “Win first, then mourn. And you,” he added, slamming his shield against the corpse, “are already dead, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>act</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian allowed herself a moment’s laugh before diving back into the fray herself, sidestepping into the middle of the latest wave and leaving corpses weaving awkwardly, seeming confused by the disappearance of various limbs, for her plate-mailed allies to hammer into the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike before, the bodies now seemed to come without pause, and Kallian’s dance with Alistair and Elissa grew more complex as she retreated, every few kills, behind their shields to reassess the field. Still, despite the intensity, Kallian was almost glad, for surely the faster the corpses came now, the sooner the demon’s tools would be exhausted, and she, her friends, and the villagers could rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, of course, the moment that a panicked shout drew her attention, and she barely ducked another clumsy blow as she snapped her focus back to the fight, letting Julian concentrate on the terrified villager’s words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re coming from the lake!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian missed a beat again as the cry carried clearly across the field, though this time there was no corpse to attempt to take advantage of her distraction. Then a great explosion swept across the field—Julian’s largest contribution since the battle had begun—and the fighters braced themselves behind their shields as the number of standing bodies was cut in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ser Perth!” Elissa called, moving swiftly to decapitate another corpse. “Guard the path! Lyna, Morrigan, keep watch! Everyone else, move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian gestured affirmatively, not sparing further breath to speak but instead downing another stamina potion as she turned and threw herself over the edge of the steep hill. Red clay stained her hands and leathers as she skidded down the slope, the retaining walls and thatched roofs below barely visible in the light from the bonfire outside the Chantry. A human could never have replicated such a feat, not without great risk or deep familiarity with the village—but there were a few advantages to not being human, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed off the hill as her boots hit the top of the wall at the bottom, bounding into a roll that she came out of with one hand on the green sword and the other gripping a dagger, which she flung across the plaza into the skull of a corpse as it menaced a wide-eyed militiaman. The body stayed standing, but lurched under the impact, and the frightened shem proved himself bold enough to capitalize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Warden Tabris!” she called, waving her emptied hand as she darted toward the barricades. “The others will be down in a minute, I took a shortcut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About time,” Murdock groused, but the mayor nodded gratefully to her nonetheless. “Damn things went right around half our preparations and nearly all our manpower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s a pile of corpses up the hill that says it wasn’t all for naught,” Kallian observed as she stepped in to handle an approaching pair of corpses. “At the very least, it will give Perth and his lot a better chance to hold the bridge without being overwhelmed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murdock laughed shortly, a deep, fierce sound, as he cut down a corpse of his own. “I suppose this is a good sign, in a way,” he mused, falling back against two more bodies before Kallian circled around to take one by surprise. “Before, we were always overwhelmed at the pass. You Wardens have forced whatever is behind this to try something new. I only hope that it’s not enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like no battle Julian had taken part in before. In the Korcari Wilds there had been more room to spread out, and never near so many enemies in a wave; at Castle Cousland and in the Tower of Ishal, enemies had been numerous and allies few, allowing him strike relatively freely. Here, the Redcliffe militiamen thronged about him and his friends and companions, as numerous from moment to moment as the endless tide of shambling dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had been simple enough at the cliff top, as he stood to the rear beside Morrigan, watching the archers and warriors to ensure no one was caught unawares. The use of frost and spirit magic helped to keep him on his toes, and the traps and multitude of fighters had ensured that he was nowhere near overtaxing himself for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the messenger had come from the Chantry, and in a matter of minutes the situation changed entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian had dropped over the side of the cliff without a word, though he’d seen the way she twisted midair and raised her arm to catch the hillside, and he knew her vision at night was even better than his, so he’d simply hefted his staff and made tracks for the path down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To no one’s surprise, the arl-slayer had been in the thick of things already when they reached the bottom, and Julian stutter-stepped, double-checking her movement, before hurling a two-pronged tongue of flame at the backs of the nearest corpses. As they burned to pieces, he grounded his staff again and lashed out with frost and lightning, snaring or staggering bodies to create breathing room and offensive opportunities as he slowly made his way toward Murdock and his militia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wardens!” The mayor hailed them in relief as they approached. “Thank the Maker. They came from the lake and took us completely by surprise. We would have been overwhelmed had you not arrived so swiftly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A good thing we did, then,” Julian replied simply. “How have they attacked? Simply coming directly from the water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More or less, yes,” Murdock affirmed, wiping his brow, “although they spread out to surround us once their numbers grew great enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simple enough to counter,” the mage observed, nodding. “Elissa, Alistair! Man the gaps in the outer barricades, we should be able to hold a number of them there. Sten, Kallian, stay mobile, ensure they don’t get cut off. I’ll play backup, same as before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple enough strategy to execute, and largely effective; the corpses that emerged from the lake, though waterlogged, were no more durable or talented than the ones they had faced at the pass up the hill. Nonetheless, they proved, if anything, even more numerous, and before long Julian, too, was in the thick of the action, driving his staff against dead skulls and fending off maces with the haft to buy time for further eruptions of frost, lightning, and shattering stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lyrium, right,” he muttered to himself, breaking off behind Sten to chug an electric-blue potion. Instantly, he felt his mana surge, strength even returning to his limbs: incomprehensible though magic might be to ordinary folk, it was intimately entwined with every aspect of a mage’s being—no doubt part of the reason mages tended not to suffer the severe effects that Templars did, though Julian had always been leery of the stuff regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reenergized as he was, he spared the effort without hesitation to cast a field of rejuvenation on the square. Solona would have done it better, he knew, but it was important to keep every villager alive and in the fight, and he had brewed potions enough only for his own companions.He saw Murdock and a few others straighten their stances, meeting the next set of corpses with renewed vigor, and moved back to the fray himself, waves of frost and forks of lightning issuing from his staff to corral and weaken the horde.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maker, how long can a night last?” he sighed, wiping his brow and freezing a shambling warrior solid for Elissa to shatter with a shield bash. She turned and raised the surprisingly mixed-use implement in salute before they each turned back to the fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This far south, anywhere from eight to sixteen hours,” Sten answered his question with obnoxious straightforwardness before adding, “Given the position of the stars, I believe it is approaching midnight; there should be not more than six hours until dawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Julian groaned, nearly discouraged. “But… well, Elissa said it, before nightfall. There can only be so many of them, surely, and with the number we’ve destroyed already…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The battle may end before dawn, yes,” Sten agreed. “But only if we continue fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian sighed again as the qunari strode forward, sweeping the heads from a trio of corpses as they rushed him without coordination or care. He uncorked another lyrium draught—his last must have been an hour ago or more—and launched himself into the battle again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, what seemed only minutes later, he flash-froze a corpse as it moved to strike Murdock’s head from behind, shouting a warning that allowed the mayor to turn and shatter the thing, before turning to assess the field again and finding it suddenly deserted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was well fought,” he heard Elissa telling Murdock, “but we should remain on guard, just in case, and send a runner to be sure that the attack from the bridge has ended as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take the first shift down here,” Julian volunteered as he joined them. “Trying to sleep wouldn’t do me much good so soon after a lyrium potion, though I’ll probably crash hard once it wears off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let my men get some rest, then,” the mayor assented, “and be ready to take over in a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Julian nodded gratefully. “There’s not long left to sleep, anyways, and we’ll need to get an early start figuring out how to infiltrate the castle before that demon can come up with a new trick. I should ask, though—it’s not my strongest area, but does anyone need my aid as a healer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murdock shook his head. “We lost two men before your elven friend arrived,” he explained, “Lloyd, the barman, and young Frederick sustained wounds even you couldn’t have helped with in the midst of battle. There are a half-dozen more who are injured, but they’ll recover. Save your strength for the next fight, Warden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Julian bowed his head, sighing internally for the young villager he’d missed the chance to save. Hopefully Solona and the others had escaped with or after Loghain’s forces, and he would have a chance to talk to her when they made it to the Circle. “Elissa—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have Kallian check on Lyna and Morrigan, and then come share the watch,” the warrior replied to his unspoken address. “I don’t know much about demons, but I do know something about castles. We can use the time to prepare before we speak with Bann Teagan in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mage nodded in agreement and waved as Elissa and Murdock turned to go their separate ways. Then, leaning with both hands on his staff, he turned his attention to the lakeside village houses and the dark, shimmering water beneath them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No Lyna POV this time, despite her unique position in the battle. It just didn't fit with the rhythm of the chapter, sadly.</p><p>Title note: Pretty straightforward this time, although there is a ST:TNG episode that also uses the phrase.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. You Are Cordially Invited</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Julian woke with a pounding headache—not quite as bad as after his Harrowing, much less the Joining, but still painful enough that he screwed his eyes shut against the act of perception, only cracking one cautiously open as an herbal aroma brushed against his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Maker, not again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he lamented internally, realizing that he’d collapsed in his robes: a sensible enough decision, given that he was lying beside Elissa in a grateful villager’s house, but Mother Irma would have his hide for the state of his clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he realized exactly how those two thoughts fit together, namely that they didn’t. He never again had to care what Revered Mother Irma thought of his robes, though he did have to meet with Bann Teagan of Rainesfere… as soon as possible, most likely, he considered, reaching out as carefully as possible to bring the teacup from which the aroma originated to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strikingly bitter, and he wondered if Morrigan had found herself in the unlikely role of Warden caregiver once again; the taste certainly called to mind the dark environs and deceptive flora of her native swamps. Aside from who he owed thanks to, however, the answer mattered little, so he merely drained the cup and got to his feet, making a decorous exit as Elissa began to stir.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morrigan was indeed downstairs, he found on reaching the living area of the two-room, two-floor house, but so too were Kallian and Leliana, the first of whom was in intense conversation with a woman Julian presumed to be the house’s owner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I don’t want to just take something so important to your family,” Kallian was fretting, although there was a note in her voice as if she also didn’t really want to object to whatever was on offer too strenuously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” the woman—about their age, Julian thought—insisted. “You saved my brother, our family wouldn’t exist without you. And besides, it wouldn’t feel right to insist on keeping it, not knowing where it really came from. You saved us last night, and you’re going to save the whole world, aren’t you? Keep it, please. Your silver is more than enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian hesitated, then bowed her head. “Thank you. And thank you for your hospitality, as well—Oh, Julian, good. How’s Elissa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exhausted, I assumed,” Julian shrugged, gesturing vaguely. “Given that we did stay up even later than you, to keep watch… the tea helped, though. Morrigan, I assume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Twas I indeed,” the witch affirmed. “Though I would not say it bodes well for our company that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am the one to whom the lion’s share of healing is entrusted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well,” Julian made an equivocal gesture with his hands, “Next time, you’re free to take the watch after a midnight battle, and I’ll handle your headache in the morning. Or whoever we pick up at the Circle will; there are plenty of more experienced healers than I, and I’m sure at least one of them will be eager to travel with us, probably more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morrigan made a face, but before she could respond, Elissa thumped down the stairs, once again fully armored, her unusually heavy gait the only sign of her lingering fatigue. With both of the watch-keepers accounted for—the militia had taken over the duty after Julian and Elissa—the Wardens and their companions gathered outside the chantry, where Bann Teagan and the revered mother spoke in celebration of the successfully repelled attack, before hiking up the cliff to Kallian’s tavern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the acclaimed party ate their fill and the sun climbed gradually above the red cliffs, tinted with stunning vibrancy by the dawn light, Julian hummed quietly to himself and did his best to recollect the plans and possibilities he and Elissa had considered the night before. He startled momentarily as one of the mabari—Dane, he thought—licked his hand, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they gathered outside the windmill, just back from where the barricades and barrels of oil had been erected the night before, it was mid-morning—but, before Julian or Elissa could begin to voice the fruits of their discussion, a woman’s voice cried out, “Teagan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, Julian realized in astonishment, the arlessa: Isolde, the woman who had tormented Alistair in his childhood and eventually exiled him to the Chantry. She had been sent, she explained as she drew near enough to speak, and ordered to return to the castle with Teagan alone. He probed further, seeking hints about the demon, but all the Orlesian-born noble knew was that the force behind the attacks had killed everyone in the castle save herself, her son, and the arl, though the arl’s condition was uncertain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Teagan had a plan… of sorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. You’re going into the demon-controlled castle, </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Kallian narrowed her eyes at the bann. “You realize how dangerous that is, don’t you? And I don’t think the arl will be happy with us if something happens to you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like it either,” Julian sighed, “but it is probably our best option. It puts Bann Teagan at great risk… but it may allow us to slip into the castle undetected. If the bann doesn’t return, or if the arlessa remains here with him, the demon will be alerted. So long as it sees what it expects to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Elissa clasped her hand to her chest, saluting the bann, and turned toward the windmill. “We should get going, then. Julian and I will go up front, with Dane; Alistair and Lyna should follow next with Suledin. Morrigan and Kallian can go after them, with Sten and Leliana in the rear. Let’s move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian nodded in acknowledgement and swept toward the windmill, pausing inside to let Elissa unlock the passage before proceeding down the narrow corridor as swiftly as he could while staying alert for traps or wards. Redcliffe Castle was old, but had no history of use by the Templars or Chantry, so the only magical protections were likely to be those, if any, that the demon had set up itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, they encountered nothing of note until they reached the end of the passage, which opened onto what was clearly a small dungeon. Corpses rose up from the floor as soon as the Wardens entered the room, and were easily dispatched—but as the commotion subsided, a stunningly familiar voice called out, fearfully, from a cell, “Who’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jowan?” The name escaped Julian’s mouth in a whispered rush of shock and disappointment and astonishment at his old friend’s location and sorely battered condition. “You’re the one who did this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Jowan gripped the bars of his cell firmly, his pleading gaze fixed on Julian. “You have to believe me, I did none of this. I poisoned the arl, yes, but that’s all—Loghain, his men captured me, and then he told me… he said Eamon was a danger to the country, and if I did this he would make things right with the Circle. I just wanted to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanted to help?!” Alistair fumed from behind Julian. “A great deal of help you’ve done! Almost everyone in the castle is dead, and half the village—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Julian interrupted, raising a hand to cut off the ex-templar’s building rant, at the same time as Jowan cried out, again, “That wasn’t me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The arl’s son,” Jowan explained, once Julian had stilled his companions, “Connor. He had started showing… signs. Isolde wanted to keep it secret, so she hired me to teach him to control his magic. We haven’t gotten far, just enough to avoid accidental outbursts, but when his father fell ill from the poison… he must have done something, torn open the veil. The arlessa didn’t believe me, of course; every day she comes down and </span>
  <em>
    <span>interrogates</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, trying to learn what I’ve done, but this—this was not me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian nodded and stepped back, unlocking the cell door with a gesture. “I won’t lie, Jowan. My trust in you? It’s thinner than it was. But fallible and malevolent aren’t the same thing. You always had a good heart—even in your escape, you did less damage than I would have in your shoes—and I don’t think we can blame you for being taken in by a hero like Teyrn Loghain, can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He directed the last words to the crowd behind him, Alistair in particular, who bristled but eventually grimaced and bowed his head in acceptance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Julian smiled disarmingly. “So, the way I see it, you have two options: Leave out the back, head for the hills, and take a second stab at living as a hermit somewhere… or, if you want to fix things yourself, you can come with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jowan nodded solemnly, rubbing his arms as he stepped out of the cell and met Julian’s steely gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re lying again, of course, I’ll have to kill you,” the half-elf observed pleasantly, “but so long as you really are in any way the man I thought I knew, you will be safe under my protection—the protection of the Grey Wardens. This I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jowan clasped his hand, with all the force and relief Julian himself imagined he might have felt had Duncan’s offer come some hours later than it had. “Let’s go fix this.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the number of undead that they had destroyed the night before, to the point that the horde dispersed well before dawn, the castle itself remained definitively overrun. Still, with half a dozen capable fighters, three mages, and two mabari, they made respectable progress up from the dungeon and around the back of the first floor—where they also discovered a young woman hiding in a storeroom, whose name Julian had evidently been given before—and through the cellar to the forecourt. Where, naturally enough, there was a revenant waiting for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reanimated warrior, a monster far more deserving of the name than the bodies they’d encountered before, pulled Julian off his feet and clear across the courtyard, and the mage scrambled back, holding up his glowing staff to ward off a mighty blow from the greatsword that the revenant wielded in one decomposing hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna snapped into action, loosing an arrow that sailed across the courtyard and lodged itself beneath the revenant’s sword arm, followed by two more aimed to stagger it—one of which it brushed aside with a metal roundshield that had somehow moved across its body in the time it took the arrow to cross the yard. Still, that movement gave Julian the opening he needed to ground his staff decisively and encase the creature in a binding coat of rime; the revenant continued to struggle, but the mage yelled defiantly and raised his free hand, maintaining the spell to hold the monster back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the fighters and mages had their hands full with the multitude of other undead, but with a cry to her mabari, Elissa broke through and charged across the clearing. Dane bounded after and ahead of her, followed swiftly by Suledin, and the force of the two hounds crashing bodily against it finally caused the revenant to stagger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna was distracted momentarily by a corpse that slipped through the gap where Elissa had stood, dropping her bow and swiping high with her dagger to sever its hand before the shabby mage from the dungeon—Jowan, that was it—engulfed it in a searing burst of flame. She rolled to her feet and watched as Alistair, having followed Elissa across the courtyard, leapt into a gap the Cousland heir had opened in the revenant’s guard and slashed it open from the shoulder to the opposite hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the revenant had collapsed into dust and bones, leaving only the mystery of whose body had been stolen to make it, Elissa directed Alistair to open the portcullis, admitting Ser Perth and his knights, themselves little the worse for wear after the previous night’s battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was inside the main hall, however, that Lyna fully realized what a demon on the loose was capable of. In front of a stricken-looking Arlessa Isolde, so visibly distraught that Lyna actually felt a stab of pity for the self-centered Orlesian, and a dour-faced human boy, Bann Teagan was dancing like a court jester from one of Leliana’s bawdier tales. The hunter hung back, Suledin rumbling unhappily at her side, as Julian and Elissa advanced on the trio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So these are our visitors?” The young boy sneered, in a voice that both was too deep for his frame and echoed as if coming from the depths of a murky cavern. “The ones who defeated my soldiers? The army I sent to reclaim my village? And now it’s staring at me! What is it, mother? I can’t see it well enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He extended an arm to point at Julian, and Lyna frowned; either Connor Guerrin had badly deformed eyes, or for some reason the demon controlling him couldn’t perceive clearly through his senses. She hoped Julian or Morrigan would know what that would mean—for the child, and for them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is an elf, Connor,” Isolde answered, trembling unnervingly. “You… you’ve seen elves before, we have them here in the castle—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I remember!” The possessed child cried, lighting up in perverse enthusiasm. “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs! The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna swallowed hard and glanced toward Kallian, whose knuckles had gone white around the hilts of her sword and dagger. “Don’t,” she whispered, as the arlessa tried unsuccessfully to calm her son. “It’s the demon, not… don’t do anything rash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian nodded fractionally as Connor—or, rather, the demon—exploded at Isolde again, and the arlessa turned to plead with Julian and Elissa for her son’s life. Lyna couldn’t blame her; the pit in her stomach felt like it could swallow her whole, and even the way Isolde had referred to the elves reminded her of all the abuses suffered both by the Dalish and by the city elves who occasionally found them. Unfortunately, though, it was plain enough that a mere arrow would have little effect on the thing that wore the body of a noble’s son, so Lyna simply stood and watched and listened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no intention of hurting him,” Julian promised calmly, although Lyna could see that his fingers were poised on his staff, ready to cast at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally enough, the conversation only went downhill from there, and after a few more volleys between mother, possessed child, and Morrigan—and why, Lyna wondered faintly, did that sound almost redundant—Connor fled the room as Teagan and the guards turned with blank gazes and drew their blades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian reacted instantly, whirling his staff above his head and bringing down with ringing force against the stone floor, releasing a visible wave of force that knocked the guards back and off their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Their minds are not their own,” he cried, blasting another soldier back with a bolt of lightning. “Use what force you must, but spare them if you can!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given that imperative, the Wardens and their companions were at a disadvantage—and yet, as Elissa bashed a guard with her shield, Kallian twisted another’s arm behind his back and struck him precisely on the neck, and Alistair, grimacing, delivered Bann Teagan a hammerfist blow to the side of the head, the fight did not last long. Of course, Lyna noted, as Morrigan and Jowan relaxed their stances, and Julian cast a healing spell over the guard he’d electrocuted, the three mages in their number would likely have been equal to the task even had the rest of them not been more than a match for the mind-controlled guardsmen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Julian and Alistair helped the bann back to his feet, Isolde fretting beside them, the rest of the group turned to consider their next move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killing Connor would be the swiftest and surest way to end the threat, yes,” Jowan responded to something that Morrigan or Alistair had said, “but it’s not our only option. The demon is not fully in control; that means it is still in the Fade, connected to Connor by the deal they made. If we follow that connection back, we could find and kill the demon in the Fade, leaving Connor unharmed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easier said than done,” Julian observed as he, Alistair, and Teagan joined the circle. “Entering the Fade while conscious requires lyrium and mages—lots of lyrium, and more mages than we have here. Bann Teagan, how far is it to Kinloch Hold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About a day’s journey by boat,” the bann replied immediately, understanding the mage’s intention. Lyna cocked her head, considering; remembering the demon’s words spoken through Connor’s mouth made any doubt or delay in its destruction appalling, but she could also see, and feel, the practical and moral arguments for preserving the boy’s life. Connor was at fault, in a sense, but he was also a lost and frightened child, and to murder a boy his age would repulse even the most vindictive members of her clan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian bowed. “Then, with your agreement, we will leave tomorrow for the Circle. For now, we should secure the rest of the castle as well as possible, and see what we can do to contain the demon without confronting it directly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teagan assented, and the Wardens divided themselves to secure the rest of the castle, or as much of it as possible without confronting Connor directly. With Suledin by her side, Lyna followed after Julian, Jowan, and Alistair as they made their way upstairs, clearing rooms of corpses that rushed them with swords and even spells to drain their strength. Julian put special focus on countering those undead, while Alistair and Jowan worked to corral the bodies and allow Kallian, Lyna, and Suledin to outmaneuver them, and eventually they reached a door through which undead poured almost constantly, plunging through the mages’ volleys of lightning and fire to contest the fighters with their swords. On occasion, one would throw out an orb of slowly-moving light and Julian or Jowan would break off their generalized elemental assaults to destroy that particular corpse, but eventually, as before, the bodies seemed to run out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wide hall stood on the other side, and Kallian and Lyna followed Julian as he advanced cautiously toward the far door, falling back toward the walls when he raised a hand in alarm and ducked to the side of the doorframe. In the hall beyond, Lyna caught a glimpse of a child, standing as still as a statue, and realized what they had found.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is as far as we go, I think,” Julian murmured, backing up slowly. He raised his hand toward the door, joined after a moment by Jowan, and a shimmering blue barrier coalesced within the passage. “That should contain the boy long enough for us to get to Kinloch Hold and back—although, Jowan, I think it might be best if you and Morrigan remained, just in case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shabby mage nodded, saying something apologetic that only Julian could hear, and the group turned to rejoin the others below.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, the castle was secured, Connor and the demon contained, and the Wardens met to plan their next actions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would recommend that Jowan and Morrigan both remain here,” Julian noted, raising a hand to forestall the witch’s objection. “You are a valuable fighter, and I, at least, do enjoy your company. But I doubt it would be wise, or pleasant for you, to bring you within the walls of the Circle. We will be away for a few days, at most, but that is still time the demon could use to cause chaos if no one is here to restrain it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if the demon does attempt to ‘cause chaos’?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow challengingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then… do what you must,” Julian sighed, “but please, do nothing more than that. I doubt the arl will be pleased if he awakens to discover that his son has been killed, whatever the circumstances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teagan frowned and crossed his arms. “That is all very well, but I did not realize that the blood mage traveling with you was ever an option. He may not have brought the demon on us, but he did poison Eamon, and for that he must answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian glanced at Elissa, who looked concerned but gave him a deferential nod. “To be blunt, Bann Teagan,” he replied, “I intend to recruit Jowan into the Grey Wardens—by invoking the Right of Conscription if necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” The startled squawk came from Alistair, who looked as surprised as he sounded. “But—But he’s a blood mage! And he poisoned the arl!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I killed an arl’s son,” Kallian spoke up, shrugging demonstratively. “Eamon’s still alive, at least for now, and I thought we already agreed we couldn’t hold this idiot responsible for taking Loghain seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree,” Lyna added. “I’ve probably got more experience with magic than any other non-mage here, living with Merrill and Keeper Marethari, but what we’ve seen magic do just in the last few days… well,” she concluded, spreading her hands for emphasis, “I’d rather have as many mages on our side as we can get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian smiled at the plain-spoken vote of confidence before turning to his final compatriot, and the only one who had risen to a similar or greater stature than his own among them. “Elissa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warrior paused a moment, locking eyes with him, then nodded slowly. “If you trust him and believe in his capabilities, then I don’t see why not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent,” the half-elf smiled widely and clapped his hands. “It’s decided, then. Morrigan and Warden-Recruit Jowan will keep watch while the rest of us seek aid from the Circle… Maker help us with that one, feh,” he added, enthusiasm dissipating as abruptly as it had come before he turned to Teagan again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before that happens,” he asked, raising one finger, “I don’t suppose you could give us a place to crash? Saving the village and all, it’s been a hard day’s… night, or whatever. And I’ve got to have words with Greagoir, about—everything. Thanks.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Shadows and Symbols</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A smutty interlude with some plot and character advancement before the Circle.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Elissa smiled to herself, slipping Alistair’s rose into her belt as she leaned against the narrow window of her room. Perilous the castle’s upper floor might remain, she reflected somberly, but the several hundred feet of cliffs rising from the lake at least meant that there were still accessible bedchambers—mostly belonging to deceased retainers, of course, but since they could not be aided, the Wardens could be spared having to sleep in the town Chantry or in weary villagers’ beds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers brushed the flattened white petals, and Elissa’s thoughts turned again to the ex-templar. He was sweet and charming, certainly; had he been an ordinary knight and met her in her old life, she might well have fallen for him. Not that it was impossible now, but the situation was certainly more complicated: there was Julian, first of all, though it had been two weeks since they’d had sufficient time and space, and the danger and emotional demands of the Blight, not to mention Kallian and—she shook her head, cutting off the train of thought; complexity was never aided by introducing yet another factor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the mage and the assassin seemed to be bonding as well, though Morrigan and Jowan stood in unclear relations to them all, as did the Orlesian chantry sister who was more than she appeared. Perhaps she ought simply to be open with Alistair, as frank with her appreciation as she had been while also letting him know clearly how things were between the rest of them. At the same time, she should probably discuss the matter with Julian and Kallian; her interactions with them were more casual, but their feelings would still be significant in deciding whether and how to address her own feelings for the ex-templar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Field-Commander,” a soft voice came from the door, and Elissa turned, half out of her armor, to see Lyna standing shyly in the doorway. At her nod, the hunter entered, laying her ever-present bow and quiver to the side and closing the door behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope I’m not intruding,” the elf murmured, eyes downcast, twining her fingers nervously, “But there’s been something on my mind since—since Ostagar, or shortly after. You have… changed my view of shemlen—our companions, too, and Duncan, but you especially—and… well,” she sighed, taking a deep breath before rolling her shoulders back and looking Elissa boldly in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have… flirted. I think,” Lyna stated, visibly fighting the urge to collapse on herself. Elissa, in turn, felt a sudden desire to take the other girl in her arms, but held back, wanting to give her the opportunity to say, and also wanting to hear, exactly what was on the hunter’s mind. “Not exclusively, I know. But, still, I would like to… to join you, and the others. Julian and Kallian. In… whatever you share, exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elissa blinked, surprised at the direct request, before favoring the elf with a soft laugh and a smile as she replied, “Well, I certainly don’t think any of us would reject you. You’re tough, cute,” she laughed again at Lyna’s expression, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> deadly, fun to be around, and—well, I said cute, but, really, you’re hot. And, well, fun, badass, and beautiful? I’m delighted… but.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, walking slowly from the window to where Lyna stood with her hands clasped nervously and her cheeks flushed delightfully, struggling to meet the noblewoman’s gaze. As the Dalish girl had become more familiar with her fellow Wardens, she had begun to relinquish control more easily, and had outright asked Elissa to assume command after the disaster at Ostagar… but being out of one’s element and bearing compatible inclinations were two quite different things—even if, in Elissa’s own case, her desire for control was of similar extent in either situation. The only thing to do was repay Lyna’s directness, and hope things worked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” she continued, closing the last of the distance between them to cup the blushing hunter’s chin, “Julian and I, in particular, have certain tastes. I remember you joking about Dalish ropework before, so I’m guessing you have some experience with bondage, but what about pain or submission more broadly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not… not much,” Lyna murmured, her blush rapidly intensifying, “but… I’d like you to show me. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Elissa accepted, stepping back with a smile. “Do you have a watchword? Boundaries? Julian and I were a bit reckless our first time, even though it worked out, but… well, we’re all dealing with a bit more now than we were then, and I’d like to push a bit harder if that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—um, rough is good. No blood?” Lyna bit her lip. “I don’t think I’d mind if you wanted to… hold a knife to me, or something,” she added, blushing even more fiercely than before, “as long as you don’t do anything that actually draws blood. Or… otherwise involves… unsanitary substances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Elissa agreed again, nodding. “I’m of much the same mind—although I admit I hadn’t thought of using knives in sex before. I might use your daggers in the future, though, if that’s alright?” Lyna nodded, and Elissa hummed in thought. “Dirty talk? Pet names?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause. Before Elissa could think of how to clarify her suggestion or apologize, however, Lyna nodded—first waveringly, then faster until her head was bobbing up and down uncontrollably, and at last the elf burst out, as if a blockage inside her had shattered, “Yes! Please. Yes, please… um. What should I call you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha!” Elissa laughed again, smiling down at the submissive warrior in front of her. “Well… Julian called me pet, which I think suits you best between the two of us, and names aren’t something I’ve discussed—or used—with Kallian. But, if you’d like the formality… how about messere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna swallowed and nodded. “Yes, mes—Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elissa smiled again and raised the elven girl’s hand to her lips. “Very well, then. Shall we begin?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Ah—Yes, please. Messere,” Lyna stammered, doing her best to look Elissa in the face; she didn’t want to risk the warrior thinking she was having second thoughts, but the sincerity of her desire hardly made that an easier task. “Um… how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elissa smirked and stepped back, swiftly and efficiently discarding her coat and tunic, bending over with her back to the elf as she stripped off her boots and pants, as well. Finally, she turned again, tossing her breastband aside with a flourish, and answered, simply, “Like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna gasped softly, stunned for a moment as she took in the sight of Elissa’s body. The human noble had more than half a foot on her, and considerably more muscle; golden hair fell across broad, shield-bearer’s shoulders, framing a smiling blue-eyed face and a soft, generous chest that Lyna imagined she could smother herself in. The warrior’s stomach was chiseled like the armor of a dwarven statue, and farther down…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl,” Elissa’s voice was soft and yet utterly commanding. “That’s where your attention should be. Clothes off, and on your knees where you belong, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The order jolted Lyna into motion, and seconds later she was as naked as Elissa, save for the leather cord around her neck that the warrior had stopped her from removing. “Is it alright if I use this like a collar?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yes, messere.” Lyna nodded, feeling awkward mostly because Elissa’s grip on the thong had prevented her from dropping to her knees. The leather was simply a bit of spare material she’d taken to wearing, and on occasion putting to practical use, but the idea of its being used to bind her—or, rather, to symbolize her submission—was an exciting one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Elissa murmured, brushing Lyna’s hair behind her ear. Then she tugged on the impromptu collar, pulling Lyna forward as she brought her hand down sharply on her ass. “Maker, it’s not fair that we ought to keep quiet right now. I want to hear you beg for this, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Lyna felt she had lost the ability to speak. The sting of Elissa’s spanking radiated through her like a mage’s spell of ownership, and her breath caught in her throat, trapped between her desire to beg as instructed and the certain feeling that pets like her were never meant to use words. Elissa spanked her again, and a wordless cry broke through her lips, followed by a helpless babble of objectless pleading in Common and Elvish, interrupted by half-stifled moans as Elissa brought her hand down again and again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.” Lyna’s begging cut out as Elissa spoke again, turning the elf back around to face her. Still holding the hunter’s collar in one hand, the noblewoman gently caressed her captive’s breast with her free hand, the motion of her fingers drawing a half-whimper from the elf—which was instantly punished by another stinging slap, this time to the breast in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quiet, now,” Elissa commanded. “This,” she pinched Lyna’s nipple, then slapped her chest again, lightly, “is mine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she dropped her hand between Lyna’s legs, and the hunter whimpered again, “is mine. These are mine,” she added, pressing her slick fingers between Lyna’s yielding lips, “Your pleasure is mine, your pain is mine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> are mine, and you are here to bring me pleasure. Understood, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y—Yes, messere,” Lyna nodded, shakily, as Elissa withdrew her fingers and wiped them on the elf’s reddened breast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl. Kneel,” the knight commanded, and Lyna obeyed immediately, dropping to the floor so quickly that she almost banged her knees, even through the thick bearskin that she absently noted had been perfectly placed on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good girl,” Elissa smiled down at her, and Lyna found herself smiling back, happy simply because of the expression the warrior was directing her way. “You look so lovely down there, it really is where you belong. Even if,” she pursed her lips momentarily, “you are dripping on the arl’s rug. But that’s alright. You can’t help it, can you? My. Cute. Elven. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Slut.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She punctuated each of the last four words with a light but firm slap to Lyna’s cheeks, then stepped even closer, tilting the elf’s head back by her hair so that she was forced to look up amost directly between Elissa’s legs. Lyna took a deep, shuddering breath, holding herself back from doing more only by reminding herself that Elissa had given her no orders. She was the human noble’s slut, but she would be her </span>
  <em>
    <span>obedient</span>
  </em>
  <span> slut, no matter whether Elissa planned to punish or reward her. After a moment, though, the knight released her, roughly, and retreated to her bed, sitting with her legs spread wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crawl,” she ordered, and with a murmured, “Yes, messere,” Lyna dropped her arms in front of her to obey, eyes fixed between Elissa’s legs as she felt the noble’s gaze sweep over her prostrate, desperate body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would Elissa return the favor, she wondered, as she paraded herself along the floor. Put like that it seemed absurd: Yes, she had propositioned the knight because she wanted to feel the larger woman’s touch, to be held and pleasured as much as she wanted to pleasure and, admittedly, obey… but, as she drew herself between the taller woman’s thighs and finally reached out with her tongue, she realized that the very thought of non-reciprocation, of being nothing but a frustrated toy for the dominant noble, struck her nearly as powerfully as the first stinging, embracing blow of Elissa’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Maker, yes,” Lyna’s commander moaned above her, her hands firmly tangled in the elf’s jet-dark hair. The hunter herself only faintly noticed, buried as she was in her warmth and taste and smell, until Elissa’s thighs clenched around her and she drew out Lyna’s name in a keening, bated moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you, pet,” she smiled, pulling Lyna back to smile down at her soaking face. “That… was incredible. As is the sight of you—I’m not sure whether to make you clean up, or let me catch my breath and do that all over again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flush with the noble’s praise and knowledge of her own exacting obedience, Lyna stuttered only slightly as she asked, boldly, “M-May I please come, too, messere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That depends,” Elissa smiled teasingly as she took Lyna by her collar again, tossing her up onto the bed and following so that she straddled her captive, the wet junction of her legs only inches from Lyna’s face. “I’ve never had a girl like you before… Do you think you deserve it, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lyna whimpered, almost in tears from her conflicting desires: her desperate physical need to come, and the equally irresistible, even all-consuming desire to make Elissa happy. Before she could speak, though, Elissa simply laughed and shifted herself forward, and Lyna had only one thing to worry about again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Elissa finally lifted herself from her face, Lyna’s deep, thankful inhale turned abruptly into series of shattered, desperate moans as the noblewoman, having shifted herself down the bed, reached between her elven sex toy’s legs with one hand and took her breast in the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t really think I would leave you hanging, did you?” Lyna couldn’t muster a response to the question, only bucking helplessly into Elissa’s touch until the dam inside her broke and she was left and panting, grateful mess on her lover’s sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I thought you might. Messere,” she answered, once she could speak again. “I… This was… nice. Better than nice. Being… I liked being your pet. A lot. If—If you wanted to, I guess… fuck. Make this permanent, almost? Except I wouldn’t get to come, usually, unless you wanted. That would… I’d like that, I think. Not always, but… that would be worth it, to have you in control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lot of trust. But I like how you think,” Elissa hummed thoughtfully, pressing a kiss to Lyna’s cheek as she curled her fingers around her makeshift collar. “Be a good girl for me from now on, and I might let you come when we reach the Brecilian Forest. Or maybe Denerim—after all, we wouldn’t want to make the trees jealous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, messere,” Lyna murmured, folding both her arms around one of Elissa’s as she curled up within the warrior’s embrace.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Voices echoed from Julian’s quarters as Kallian approached, having bid goodnight to Leliana early in the hopes that she and the Circle mage could take advantage of the thick-walled privacy afforded by their accommodations for the night. It was Morrigan, she realized, and wondered briefly if the Wilds witch had dropped her barriers around her fellow mage so quickly—but, alas (or thankfully; for someone raised so far from civilization, Morrigan’s attitude toward the Wardens’ polygonal flirtations was strikingly difficult to parse), the faintly distinguishable words </span>
  <em>
    <span>grimoire, office, Templars, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and</span>
  <em>
    <span> Irving</span>
  </em>
  <span> suggested that they were only discussing logistics concerning Julian’s return to the Circle tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door opened, and Kallian could see that Morrigan was—unlike herself, armor left behind in her own appointed chambers—dressed exactly as she always was, although in the moment it took her to lift her gaze to the mage’s own, she reflected that Morrigan’s usual style of dress was entirely appropriate even if her purpose had matched Kallian’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warden,” the witch nodded respectfully, her ever-hooded eyes tracing oddly over Kallian’s figure as the Wilds witch swept past her, leaving the way into Julian’s chambers clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that all about?” she asked, tossing her head to indicate the departed mage. The one who remained chuckled wryly and stroked his chin—where, she noted with surprise, he was beginning to show signs of hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a very important grimoire the Templars managed to steal from Flemeth, ages back,” Julian explained. “Morrigan wanted me to look for it while we’re at the Circle. As I told her,” he shrugged noncommittally, “I doubt I’ll have a chance to search Irving’s office, given how I left, but if something comes up, I said I’d do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian bit her lip and nodded thoughtfully. “We owe her a lot—Flemeth, I mean—but the way Morrigan talks about her is… disturbing. I don’t blame her for wanting to take the chance to learn more about her own mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely,” Julian nodded in agreement. “I doubt I’ll be able to do much; maybe, if Irving’s in a good mood, I’ll have a chance to ask about any texts he’s found on the Witch of the Wilds. Granted,” he added with a sigh, “if the old man thinks there’s something in it for himself I should even be able to borrow it… although how lending out a book like that, beyond the Circle walls, to someone like me, would help his political standing, I can’t quite imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you could just distract him a minute,” Kallian smirked and struck a pose. Julian laughed sharply, then caught himself and looked at her with interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You trust her that much?” Kallian raised her eyebrow; of all of them, Julian and perhaps Lyna seemed to have bonded best with the standoffish mage, and if anyone had been to ask that question she’d have expected it to be Alistair, or maybe Sten if the giant happened to be nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, it makes sense,” she shrugged, returning his expression. “You don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trust her to a point,” Julian returned her shrug, gesturing vaguely. “She’s unusual, but that’s largely on account of her upbringing. I trust her to aid us as long as we’re together, but Flemeth, for one, has some sort of larger plan—I’m not saying that no old mage who looks doddering really is, but you learn to tell. Morrigan, though… she’s hard to figure out. I’m going to help her,” he reasserted, raising his hands equivocally, “for the same reasons you said. I’m just surprised you volunteered to steal from mages and the Chantry in one go on her account.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you object?” Kallian challenged, cocking her hips so as to tell him exactly how he could stop her if he did, but Julian only laughed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only on practical grounds,” he assured her, stepping forward to take hold of her arms. “You seem to have a penchant for getting into trouble, and if there’s magic </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Templars involved there may be only so much I’ll be able to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian accepted the point, but gave the mage only a cocky smirk in return. “I could flich the arl’s beard off his brother’s face without a soul being the wiser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian guffawed, but before Kallian could make a halfhearted effort to slip his grasp and get him to punish her resistance, he pitched both of them sideways onto his bed, where he quickly wrestled her into position across his lap, both her wrists pinned firmly in one of his hands as the other worked to do away with her belt and leggings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you won’t keep your hands to yourself,” he mused, yanking her pants down and giving her ass a firm, declarative slap, “I suppose I’ll have to make sure they’re kept out of the way, hm? And then the punishment, of course, or you’ll never learn to behave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, messere,” Kallian agreed, sliding eagerly into a persona of chastened meekness, though her inner nature still shone through as she wiggled her ass and asked, “But what am I being punished for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this have to be a punishment?” Julian questioned in reply, caressing her rear before delivering another stinging slap. “Maybe I just like the way you look like this… and sound,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>slap,</span>
  </em>
  <span> “and feel,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>slap,</span>
  </em>
  <span> “and beg.” He concluded the statement with a series of rapid strokes, leaving Kallian’s ass a bright, tender pink and the elven cutpurse herself squirming and holding in a moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take off your clothes, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, messere,” Kallian replied, rolling off his lap and onto her feet, keeping her eyes downcast as she stepped fully out of her slippers, pants, and smallclothes, then pulled her tunic over her head, discarded her breastband, and smoothly dropped to her knees, her gaze locked on his boots and her hands clasped behind her back. “Please, messere, how may I serve you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian simply smiled, producing a small length of cloth as he stood and slowly circled her before bending down to tie the strip around her head, blindfolding her. Next came a small length of leather fastened around her neck—a mabari collar, she realized, recognizing the width and weight as Julian secured the clasp. Much had changed since she’d met Duncan, a part of her thought, for the prospect of being collared like a literal bitch to be so ridiculously arousing. The comparison to her old, half-sheltered life was fleeting, though, as she felt the distinctive sensation of magic winding about her wrists, and then her arms were pulled to rest in her lap as an endless coil of rope came into being around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand up, pet,” Julian commanded, and Kallian obeyed, once again feeling her arms pulled upwards as something hooked into the rope binding her wrists, hauling her upward until she could only just stand on her toes. “Ah, good girl. You are really beautiful like this. Now, shall I gag you, or would you like to keep quiet on your own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian bit her lip; she had to choose quickly if she wanted to choose at all. She could be exceptionally quiet if she was determined to, even while Julian was fucking her, but the thought of being so helpless and objectified that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>speak if she wanted to was, after nearly a month of exposure to a libertine mage who had torn open the veil over her own myriad fetishes, a powerful aphrodisiac. And she knew Julian well enough to know that saying anything, at this point, would be taken as a cue to gag her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, given who she was, meant in the end that the “choice” presented to her was no choice at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can keep my mou—gmmph!” The bundle of leather, assisted by Julian’s magic, shoved her jaw open and stuffed her mouth, preventing her from speaking articulately and muffling what sounds she could still make. Before she could try to formulate another ineffectual protest, Julian’s hand came down again on her ass, spanking her in a staccato rhythm that effectively drove all thoughts of resistance from her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Kallian subsided under his ministrations, Julian stepped back to look his lover over with a smile. The ex-thief’s love of bondage had come out quickly after their first night in the Brecilian Forest, but there had been little to do on the road, given their limited time and almost nonexistent privacy. Here, though, in a private room in a castle as solidly built as Kinloch Hold? They might have slept most of the afternoon, given the battles of the foregoing night and morning, but he hadn’t been about to miss this chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hook, anchored to the ceiling by magic alone, held Kallian upright so that she balanced on her toes, her toned ass and pert, sensitive breasts exposed for teasing and spanking, while the blindfold, collar, and gag that she was already beginning to drool around ever so slightly completed the picture and the reality of abject, helpless submission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, pet,” he murmured, caressing her ass with one hand as he teased her nipple with the other. “Maker, you are beautiful like this. And always, of course, but like this… you are once more impossible and more real, it seems. Shown to your best and truest advantage. Like a good. Little. Pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cut off his lyrical musings with four sharp blows to her perfect rear, already sensitive from her earlier spanking, before wrapping his arms around her as he pressed a long, hard kiss to the nape of her neck. Kallian moaned through her gag, and Julian raised his hands to her breasts, coating his fingers in rime before trailing them across her sensitive skin, circling and teasing as she shivered under his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good pet,” he murmured, letting the ice fade from one hand before conjuring a tiny spark that leapt from his forefinger to her nipple. It was more straightforwardly sadomasochistic than Anders’ “electricity trick,” but to Julian’s delight, both of the women he was currently with enjoyed it immensely—and made beautiful noises in response, which he appropriately punished by pinching her other nipple with his frosted hand and twisting, drawing a desperate, keening moan as the bound elf’s hips bucked against the air. He could play with her like this for hours, he thought, but there was more he wanted from Kallian tonight; to show her the blissful torment she deserved would be another hedonistic fantasy for their ideal future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that, pet?” he asked, releasing her breasts to stroke her chin, where he wiped away the trail that had formed at one corner of her mouth, thanks to the gag. He swapped elements, caressing her shocked breast with a gentle touch of ice before zapping her pinched nipple—then, instead of pinching her again, dropped his electric hand between her legs and fingered at the edges of her slit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian’s response was immediate and uninhibited, a gift of the gag he had only partially anticipated: he’d teased her before, lightly, and delighted in the way she strained to silence herself for him, but now her incoherent begging came quick and desperately, her incoherent moans plainly conveying her need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gave her another spark—half the strength, if that, of the ones before—she convulsed with redoubled intensity, crying out in a muffled combination of pain and frustrated desire that sounded on the edge of tears. Julian glanced up at her hands, but her fingers were tightly bunched together: if she was attempting to do anything with them, it was to ensure he didn’t stop. So, instead, he spanked her again, teasing her with his other hand before delivering a second zap, followed shortly by another stroke to her ass—then a third cycle, and a fourth, before he finally thrust his fingers deep inside her, calling on spirit magic, as Solona had taught him, to bring his partner to the highest peak of bliss she’d ever known—and push her over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood together for several minutes, as Julian used his spirit touch to draw out Kallian’s pleasure as far as he could, but eventually the crescendo began to recede, and as she shuddered with its echoes, he saw to her bonds, letting her down onto her knees and removing her blindfold and gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once released—for the most part—Kallian simply leaned against his leg for a time, gradually working her jaw into proper order, though she waved off Julian’s concerned offer of a minor healing spell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was… good. Intense. Fuck, I—” she shook her head. “You being in charge is one thing. Being </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> helpless, though, it was almost like… like just being a thing, except for how intense everything felt. I was—I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing, I guess.” She cocked her head thoughtfully, smiling to herself, and added, “Yeah. You made me your thing, and… that was incredible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’d like to do it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maker yes,” Kallian breathed, lips twitching downward as she added, “Not that we’ll get many chances for a while, though. I, um… This may be out of place, but maybe you and Elissa could share me, next time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out of place?” Julian raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> my pet, are you?” Ignoring Kallian’s blush, he added, “If you want to share this with us both at once, I know I would be happy to oblige… although personally, I think I’d be even happier to be the one playing with both of you at once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian almost squeaked at the suggestion, and at Julian’s look she explained, “As—As long as I get to watch, right? To watch you playing with her, fucking her, instead of me, while your spells do… whatever you want…” she trailed off, blushing fiercely, eyes fixed on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian coughed, taking a moment before responding to get his own urges under control. “That’s not too… impersonal? The helplessness without my attention being on you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kallian stared at the floor a moment longer before biting her lip and shaking her head, no. “I—I don’t think so,” she replied, as if confessing to a sacreligious Revered Mother. “I know you want me, and so does Elissa—at least, between her legs,” she added lightly, “but… Maker, the both of you are hot, and… Well, I like being your thing, and why would you want to play with your toys when there’s a—a woman like her around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To see how long you could keep her on the edge, for one,” Julian replied immediately, smirking. “But… well, I can’t say I don’t like the scene. And I suppose you know we’ll both go out of our way to appreciate you for a while after, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t let her steal me completely,” Kallian finally looked up to return his grin. “If you use me against her like that, she won’t want me to come for a week, at the least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think you’re safe with me?” the mage teased warningly, threading his fingers through her hair as he granted, smiling, “You’re lucky I love the way you come for me… but as much as I love the sounds you make, I think there’s something better for you to use your mouth for at the moment, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, messere,” Kallian smiled, straightening her posture as Julian loosened his robes. They didn’t have all night, with a voyage to begin in the morning, but they had time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't worry, the companions will be getting involved eventually, to varying degrees. The main four do have a a few extra weeks of familiarity (and Julian and Elissa, of course, are rather more forward than that, given the right circumstances).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Broken Circle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kinloch Hold came into view long before they arrived, standing against the evening horizon to the north and then softly gleaming from windows that were far too high to see out of. Since only the official ferry was allowed to dock at the island that held the tower—the great bridge having long since crumbled—the Redcliffe longboat pulled up along the shore, not far from the ferry landing where Duncan and Julian had disembarked on his first night free of the Circle.</p><p>“There it is,” he sighed, looking across the water as they disembarked. “The prison I spent nearly all my life in… where I would have died, sooner or later, if Duncan hadn’t recruited me.”</p><p>Elissa squeezed his hand reassuringly as they headed for the dock. Unfortunately, the friendly old man who had rowed Julian and Duncan across the lake—just over a month ago, now, the mage realized—was no longer at his post. Instead, he had been replaced with a Templar.</p><p>“Is that… oh, Maker, whose brilliant idea was it to make Carroll the boatman?” Julian muttered despairingly. “And more importantly, why?”</p><p>Those questions fell to the side as they approached the Chantry knight, who looked at the mismatched group with undisguised suspicion. Carroll had never been one of the worst Templars, but he was no less bearable for his lack of steel; it was an even guess, Julian supposed, whether the man’s aversion to work or his characteristic toadiness would win out—assuming, of course, that the two weren’t finally working together.</p><p>“Hello, Carroll!” Julian called out with false cheer, raising his hand in greeting. “Never thought I’d have to see you again, but it seems duty calls.</p><p>“You again,” Carroll moaned in his wheedling voice, “I’m under orders to let no one across.”</p><p>“I have Grey Warden business with the Circle,” Julian retorted sternly, paying no heed to the part of his mind that was both elated and terrified at the prospect of engaging with a Templar so confrontationally. After darkspawn, treason, and undead, and with non-mage friends at his back, a man like Carroll was not about to intimidate him again. “You remember Duncan, I’m sure, or at the very least the fuss I’m sure Greagoir raised after he recruited me. Now bring us across or I’ll conscript that boat out from under you.”</p><p>“You—You can’t do that!” Carroll stammered, aghast at the threat to his nominal authority. “Can he?”</p><p>“He can,” Elissa confirmed, moving forward to stand again at Julian’s shoulder. “As Grey Wardens, we are empowered to do whatever is necessary to fight the Blight. There is a Blight now, and thanks to Teyrn Loghain’s treason, we need the mages of the Circle—both to help replace the men lost at Ostagar, and to cure the Arl of Redcliffe of a terrible poison.”</p><p>“So, shall we pass?” Julian’s tone remained mild, but his gaze was direct, and Carroll’s eyes flickered between the half-elf mage and his sword-bearing compatriot before his something in his expression and bearing seemed to crumble, and, with a weak gesture, the Templar escorted the Wardens and their allies into the small, old boat to cross the lake.</p><p>They all fit, if only barely: Alistair and Elissa, Kallian and Lyna in pairs with Dane and Suledin between them, while Julian sat between the knights and Sten sat alone in the back of the boat, raising the bow a few inches with his weight. </p><p>“It’s an impressive structure,” Lyna allowed, looking forward as Carroll took the oars, “but it still amazes me to see everything around it gone to ruin. Surely it would be possible—”</p><p>“To repair the bridge? Of course,” Julian agreed. “But that would make it easier to get from the tower to the mainland. Might be convenient for the Templars, but the mages would need to perform a lot of magic to do it, not to mention be let outside—which reminds me, I should ask Jowan how he got away that night.”</p><p>Truth be told, Julian mused, despite his many memories of the place, even he had to agree with the Dalish hunter that Kinloch Hold was an impressive sight from the water, simultaneously graceful and steadfast as the spire that he knew stood over the Harrowing Chamber soared above them. But it was a foreboding sight as well, and as they approached the tower, the pit in Julian’s stomach grew deeper. There was damage to some of the windows on the upper story, and an atmosphere of palpable menace and dread seemed to linger over the water like shadows cast by the looming Hold. </p><p>The shudder of the ferryboat against the dock jolted the mage from his thoughts, and he took the lead, Elissa following at his shoulder, as they hurried up the path to the tower doors. Those parted, allowing them entrance to the outer foyer—exclusive to Templars and visitors—just in time to hear Greagoir ordering the doors to the rest of the tower sealed and kept under guard.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” </p><p>The question fell from Julian’s mouth in a tone of surprised worry, and his companions glanced at him uncertainly.</p><p>“The doors are barred,” Alistair quietly observed the obvious. “Are they keeping people out, or in?”</p><p>“In, of course,” Julian scoffed, “Always in. But to bar the doors….”</p><p>He trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging as he approached the Knight-Commander. “Greagoir. I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”</p><p>“Who—Oh, it’s you again,” the Knight-Commander said, turning to face him with a surprised frown, which transformed into a full-blown grimace as he saw who had approached him. “Everything has gone wrong since the call came to send mages to Ostagar. First Jowan’s escape, and now blood mages and abominations control the Tower. And don’t think I’ve forgotten your role in all this.”</p><p>Julian’s jaw twitched at the reminder of his friend and the fate that had awaited him—not to mention the fate that was his best hope, now—but he kept his strongest reaction to himself and merely frowned. “Jowan’s escape seems… <em> small </em> compared to the situation here.”</p><p>Greagoir’s irritation faded slightly into exhaustion, and he nodded in concession. “That,” he sighed, “is true. As I said, blood mages and abominations control the Tower now. They took us by surprise, with ever-increasing numbers. We did all we could, but… I have sent for the Rite of Annulment.”</p><p>Julian’s blood ran cold. <em> Solona </em>. And Nicol, Anders, Petra—</p><p>“There is no one else? No one alive in this building but us, here?” </p><p>The Knight-Commander’s gaze flickered, and Julian pounced. </p><p>“How dare you?” He hissed, seething at Greagoir even as he narrowed his focus, shutting out the probing touch of fire at the edge of his mind, “Jailers and killers—How dare you have <em> ever </em> claimed to be our protectors? You have a <em> duty, Commander, </em> and you have <em> failed spectacularly.” </em></p><p>“Julian!” Elissa’s voice pulled him out of his tunneling rage, and he turned to see the warrior giving him a flat, direct stare. “What now?”</p><p>The mage held her gaze for an instant before releasing a slow, tense breath and nodding. “We get the mages out,” he said. “Alistair, Sten, we haven’t talked much about your feelings on mages, and right now, I don’t much care. If they attack you, do what’s necessary, but if they don’t, or if they surrender, we’re here to help them. Knight-Commander.”</p><p>Greagoir raised his hand as if to say something in response, but Julian turned on his heel and headed for the great, barred doors. </p><p>“Warden. A word of caution,” Greagoir called. “Once those doors are closed, there is no going back. I will open the doors only for First Enchanter Irving himself. If he is dead, the Circle and all within it are lost.”</p><p>Julian froze again. Then he turned, carefully, and pressed his lips together in a thin line, walking slowly toward the Knight-Commander until they stood less than a hand’s breadth away. The Templar was a tall man, but Julian was tall as well, especially for a half-elf, and close enough to Greagoir’s height for his gaze to burn itself into the other man’s eyes.</p><p>“Teyrn Loghain betrayed the Wardens at Ostagar. The five of us are all who remain,” he told the Templar, slowly, “and we have a treaty that compels the Circle to assist us… which means it also demands that you not stand in our way. I hope for his own sake that Irving still lives, but if not? I will shed no other tears. Sten, all of you, let’s go.”</p><p>The Knight Commander nodded, his gaze flinty, and gestured to the men at the barrier. The great doors swung open once more, and Julian led his party through… then stopped short, stumbling slightly as he stared in horror at the blood-soaked hall. </p><p>Blood mages and abominations, a violent uprising—it had sounded bad enough. But there was scarcely a stone to be seen that was not streaked with blood, and even from the entrance Julian could see three of his fellow mages, or rather what was left of them. Two he didn’t recognize—the Tower was larger than seemed intuitive, and Julian had never been especially social outside his immediate circle—but his breath caught in his throat as he reached the third body: It was Nicol, who had spoken to him the very morning of the day he left the Circle, attempting to reassure him as he struggled secretly with Jowan’s request.</p><p>“The apprentices,” he managed to say, desperate hope sliding beneath a choking, grim need to see everything that had happened. “The apprentice quarters and the nursery, they’re up ahead. We should… we should make sure everything is… restful.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Elissa followed Julian’s lead closely as the mage led them through the blood-slicked halls of his childhood home. She had always been fascinated by the idea of magic, Brother Aldous’ hear-and-fear stories notwithstanding, but the scene within the Circle was nothing short of terrifying. Even looking down on the battle at Ostagar, she had not seen such evidence of carnage, and the sight and smell were difficult to bear. That mages who had lived all their lives trammeled within the thick stone walls of the Circle could so suddenly turn on each other, with such unstoppable violence…. </p><p>She pushed her worry for Julian to the side as he opened the first door, stepping into the younger apprentices’ chambers with a sigh of devastated resignation.</p><p>There was, oddly, less visible blood in the dormitories than in the halls, though beds and chests of meager belongings were upended and smashed to pieces everywhere, and they had to step over several more mages as they made their way through the room. Julian made his way toward the back of the hall with silent determination and took several papers from a half-buried but intact chest, an expression of relief flashing momentarily across his features before he folded the pages and stuffed them into his satchel.</p><p>“There’s nothing else here,” he announced shortly, casting a mournful glance over the room before visibly closing himself off—no one identifiable gesture, but a shift in his body language that told Elissa nothing that had transpired there would be up for discussion for quite some time.</p><p>“You’re sure?” Alistair, of course, was the one who didn’t get it, but before Elissa could rebuke him—she liked him, really, but he was not the most observant at the best of times—Julian simply smiled wanly and nodded.</p><p>“I know this place,” he said, clearly but softly. “The Veil’s been thinned, badly, but… there’s nothing down here. We should keep moving if we’re going to find anyone.”</p><p>It was then, Elissa noted in retrospect, that she realized what was happening for the mage. Everything she had faced the night they met, from the physical sack of her home to the deaths of her family, was unfolding for Julian now. The premise was simple to state, but the true understanding of it—that, despite how he had talked so dismissively of the Circle, seemed to care particularly for only a few who made it home, it had nonetheless in fact been his home, and still housed all his friends save his traveling companions—filled her veins with a beating resolve that flooded out her visceral disgust, pulled her upright, and set her in motion.</p><p>“Come on, then,” she called, gathering the others and setting them in order as they followed Julian out the door. She wondered, briefly, if it would have been better to have brought Jowan or Morrigan along; the Templars would not have been pleased to see either, but additional magical might would have been more than welcome. </p><p>Hardly had she banished that thought to focus on her senses and her sword, however, when they reached the next chamber in the encircling hall—which, it happened, was filled with mages.</p><p>Or, to be precise, children who happened to be mages, with a handful of adult mages watching over them. One of the adults—the only one who didn’t look to be Elissa’s age herself, a white-haired woman in brilliant scarlet robes—stood by the far doorway, her hands raised against a seething mass of mobile fluid that glowed with a malevolent heat. A demon, Elissa realized, one of rage—of which, if Julian was any sign, there would be no shortage in the Circle, however deeply buried it might be.</p><p>The elderly woman brought her staff down sharply against the floor, and in a flash of mist the demon was covered in a thick layer of frost. The ice melted almost immediately, but the exposure seemed to sap the demon’s energies, and it melted into the floor with an inhuman screech.</p><p>“Wynne? Solona?” Julian called out, and the other mages turned in astonishment—which, in the case of one of them, quickly transformed into enthusiastic delight.</p><p>“Julian? Maker,” one of the younger enchanters exclaimed, throwing her arms around her fellow. She was blonde and grey-eyed, just under Julian’s height, with a softness to her aristocratic features that Elissa realized only in comparison had begun to desert the half-elf. “I was so worried, watching the fire as the Templars marched us north, just watching—Maker,” she sighed again, before stepping back and clapping her hands to his shoulders, “I’m so glad to see you again, but...why?”</p><p>Julian’s expression fell, and he stepped back a pace, taking Solona’s hands in his own. “Greagoir thinks the Circle is lost. We’re here to prove him wrong. Do you know where Irving is, or… or anyone else? And—What happened here?”</p><p>The two mages stood still for a long moment before Solona embraced her friend again with a laugh of relief. Then they broke apart, and she, the elderly mage, and their red-haired fellow—Senior Enchanter Wynne, a healer, and Petra, one of Julian and Solona’s acquaintances—gathered into a circle with the Wardens.</p><p>“There was a meeting of the senior enchanters,” Wynne began, once introductions had been made, “A few days after we returned from Ostagar. Uldred tried to pass off some fool notion that the Grey Wardens had led the army to disaster and killed the king, and only Teyrn Loghain’s quick thinking saved us.” </p><p>She scoffed, before any of the Wardens could react, and continued, “Obviously, I and the others present who had been at the battle were not persuaded. The argument grew heated, and broke up less amicably than usual—and then, all at once, the attacks began.”</p><p>“Wynne and I were together when it started,” Petra cut in, “And we met up with Toby—Enchanter Tobias—trying to get his class downstairs. We saw Irving briefly, near his office, but we’ve not heard from anyone except Solona since Wynne put up the barrier.”</p><p>“I was trapped upstairs for the first few days,” Solona explained, seeming to grow tired at the mere memory. “Cere was with me; we made a break for it last night, but… she didn’t make it. Nicol’s dead, too, but I haven’t seen Anders since this began.”</p><p>“We saw the body,” Julian nodded sadly. “Perhaps six feet from the barred great doors.”</p><p>“Anders was in solitary, though,” Petra added, “after his last escape attempt. If they haven’t made it to the dungeons, he’s probably fine.”</p><p>“As fine as you can be in solitary,” Julian muttered darkly, though he was unable to muster his usual bite. “Though that is one of the most secure places in the Tower, at least without a Rod of Fire. They replaced that door, didn’t they?”</p><p>“More importantly,” Elissa cut in, taking Julian’s hand reassuringly, “We need to get upstairs. If we’re going to secure the tower before reinforcements come from Denerim, we need to move now, find the First Enchanter, and find this Uldred or whoever else is behind this, and end them.”</p><p>Julian let out a long, shuddering breath, but nodded decisively, pulling himself together and assuming his authoritative bearing again. “Sol—I don’t suppose you could come with us? These folks are good,” he gestured to the assembled Wardens, Chantry sister, and qunari, “but another mage would be… better than one, to put it lightly.”</p><p>“Of course,” Solona agreed, her voice rich with affection and a desire to <em> act </em>—but then Wynne cut in, insisting that as the senior enchanter it was her responsibility to the Circle to see it protected. Despite the clear camaraderie between the younger mages, and the shared looks of skepticism on their, and surprisingly Kallian’s, faces, Elissa had to sympathize with her position—as she did with the argument to the contrary.</p><p>“Senior Enchanter Wynne,” Solona interrupted, and Elissa found herself stepping back deferentially at the steel-wire tone of command in her voice, “You are, admittedly, still on your feet. You also just suffered what should probably have been a fatal stress of the heart. I know what the upper levels are like; I was just there. <em> You </em> should stay here, with the children, and let Petra look after you all. Understood?”</p><p>Wynne’s expression faltered momentarily, but in the blink of an eye the conciliatory grandmother was back, laughing in self-deprecation and admiration of her student as she allowed herself to be led to a thin wooden chair by the wall. Solona patted her arm, smiling, then turned to face the Wardens.</p><p>“Alright, then.” The mage’s smile was genuine but sharp, and Elissa felt a tiny thrill of respectful fear run through her. “This is Wynne’s barrier, but I can undo it easily enough. And Petra and Wynne will be able to replace it if anything slips by us—not that anything will, if we want this place to masquerade as safe ever again. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Solona had scarcely been able to comprehend her relief when Julian and his companions arrived. The initial outbreak of violence had been sudden and bewildering, leaving her unsure even whose side she was on until Gabriel, Sathona, and Senior Enchanter Creia had tried to drag a young apprentice—Jae-something, from the Free Marches—up toward the Harrowing Chamber by force. She had struck down Gabriel, being saved from the others by the timely arrival of Cere and Senior Enchanter Sweeney, who for once was quick and alert—though not quick enough to avoid a Templar’s Smite that had left him open to Creia’s lightning. </p><p>Jae had been caught in Sathona’s retribution against the Templars, and Cere had died days later when she and Solona made a desperate attempt to reach the base of the tower, hoping against hope for some kind of sanctuary… and then, when Solona herself had finally reached Wynne’s barrier, she had learned along with the others that the Templars had already sealed the doors.</p><p>And then the Wardens had arrived, led by her lost friend, and she hadn’t hesitated to throw her arms around him more publicly than they had ever dared before.</p><p>Now, they left the smoldering remains of the demons and abominations that had infested the library (“The library, of all places,” Julian had groused as he froze a rage demon solid for her to shatter, “Have they no shame?”) behind them, and she felt her breath coming more freely for the first time since she’d returned to the Circle from Ostagar.</p><p>“Please, do not enter the stockroom,” a placid, monotonous voice interrupted her musing as they reached the second floor. It was Owain, the most visible Tranquil of the Circle—but where had he been before?</p><p>“Owain!” she cried, “What are you doing here? I just came down last night, when no one was here I thought you were hiding in the storage caves, or—no matter. Get downstairs, Wynne and Petra will protect you if anything gets by us.”</p><p>“I went downstairs yesterday,” Owain observed, as unsettlingly neutral as ever. “There was a barrier.”</p><p>“And you didn’t say anything?” Solona sighed, pinching her brow. If the man had died because his Tranquility made him too passive to even make his presence known unprompted—she shook her head again. “I’m not sure they’ll have put it up again, but in the Maker’s name announce yourself if they have. None of us want to end up like you, but we bear you no ill will, either.”</p><p>Owain had nodded, neutral and obedient as ever, and Solona let out a long, tired sigh. Julian took her hand and drew her into a brief, one-armed embrace, and she returned the gesture before stepping back and gesturing for him to lead on once again.</p><p>“Julian mentioned the Tranquil before,” someone spoke beside her, “but I hadn’t quite realized how… disturbing it would be to meet one. It’s hard to believe anyone could inflict that on another person.”</p><p>It was the lady knight—Elissa Cousland, she remembered—frowning sympathetically as she held her demon-spattered sword at the ready, and Solona smiled at the image despite the situation.</p><p>“It’s not that much worse than killing us all,” she offered, and Elissa mirrored her expression.</p><p>“I suppose so,” the noblewoman nodded. “Death of the body versus death of the soul… I’d say the common people aren’t the ones whose fear poses the greatest threat to mages. Good work on those demons, by the way; what is it you did to them, exactly?”</p><p>Solona shrugged indifferently. “This and that,” she replied, quickening her pace as Julian, up ahead, darted toward a door. “I’ve been studying healing, mostly, but I’ve worked with spirit and entropy magic as well. Not entirely the sort of thing the Chantry smiles on, but it works wonders in a fight. Come on.”</p><p>The next fight, however, was not as kind as the one that had come before: not just demons or abominations, but mages—blood mages—who attacked as soon as the group came into sight, uncaring that Julian and Solona, their brethren, were among them. They were unfamiliar to her at first, unlike Gabriel and Sathona, but it was still painful, and Solona found herself focusing on reinforcing her allies, allowing Julian and the warriors to take the lead, not unlike how Wynne would probably have conducted herself had she come along instead.</p><p>With two mages and—as she discovered in that moment—an ex-Templar in their party, however, the Wardens were more than a match for the maleficar, and it wasn’t long before the Dalish elf—Lyna—had shot one through the neck, Kallian the blonde city elf had stabbed the other in the back, and the last of the blood mages had thrown down her staff and dropped to her knees in surrender.</p><p>“Varena?” Julian recognized her as well, it seemed; she had come from Orlais only recently, Solona remembered, but then the Circle was only so large.</p><p>“Please,” Varena Savatier begged, “We only wanted to take control of our lives.”</p><p>“At the cost of ours?” Solona fixed her with an icy glare. She might not be Sathona, but the woman in front of her had still killed her fellow mages, been willing to kill more… and who knew where the abominations had come from.</p><p>“No, no!” Varena groaned, waving her hand. “I—I know what we did, but… the magic was a means, the only way to overcome the templars. You know change rarely comes peacefully, that someone has to take the first step. But now Uldred’s gone mad, and… I don’t know what to do. I would… I would like to atone. To seek penance, at the Chantry.”</p><p>“You know,” the templar—Alistair—mused darkly, “The Chantry will never take you. They’re very particular about who they let in: murderers, traitors, yes—maleficarum? Oh, no.”</p><p>“Your comments betray your ignorance, Alistair,” the Chantry sister—Leliana—complained. “The Chantry accepts all, regardless of what they’ve done.”</p><p><em> But not regardless of what they are, </em> Solona thought. Varena had a point: If Gabriel and Sathona hadn’t tried to drag that apprentice upstairs, she would have had no reason to turn against them, not to join them in fighting the Templars and eventually in drawing on the power of blood to thwart their own cruel powers. </p><p>“Then it would seem you were in a whole other Chantry,” Alistair retorted, though Solona couldn’t quite tell whether he was of a mind with her or simply despised the notion of letting a blood mage go free, “Because the Chantry I know wouldn’t hesitate to shove a Sword of Mercy right through her heart.”</p><p>“He has a point,” Julian warned the fallen mage, “But I don’t exactly consider the Chantry’s thoughts a guiding principle. Still…” he sighed heavily and looked to Solona.</p><p>A long moment passed as Solona looked down at Varena. Only fortuitous timing had set them on opposite sides, but Varena had been a conspirator… and yet, would Solona herself have objected, if Uldred or his followers had approached her?</p><p>She came to a decision. “Fix this. Help us stop Uldred. Prove that you mean what you say, and I think we can let you go.”</p><p>Julian nodded in appreciation, and Varena scrambled to her feet, breathlessly promising to make good on her word. She knew little about Uldred’s plans, however, only that they involved the willful conjuring of abominations—which was not, she insisted, part of the original plan, and something she had not openly objected to only for fear, as a conspirator, of having nowhere left to turn. Solona thought of Jae's cry as Sathona drained her, and then of Wynne's Aequitarian glare, and said nothing.</p><p>They found one other mage still alive and in possession of his faculties—Godwin, who was rumored to have smuggling connections, hiding in a dresser—on the second floor, and only hordes of demons and possessed Templars on the third. Julian’s precision and dexterity had improved, Solona noted as she downed a scavenged lyrium potion, as had his stamina; she wondered if his increase in ability was tied to whatever made the Wardens special, or was merely an effect of his time out in the world.</p><p>Finally, they reached the First Enchanter’s chambers; predictably, Irving was not there—had he not been overcome, Solona imagined, Julian’s mentor would have been quite visibly fighting for his Circle and his charges, not hiding in his office or cupboard. She raised a brow at Julian as he lingered, rummaging through Irving’s desk and bookcases until he found a black leather tome that he stuffed into his pack, but he merely shook his head with a signed promise to explain later.</p><p>On the fourth floor, they found another enchanted Templar, this one not merely turned into a puppet but in some sort of waking dream, speaking to his desire demon as if in a trance, playing out some sort of domestic fantasy. Solona and Julian shared a glance and nodded.</p><p>“I almost hate to do this,” the Warden announced as he raised his staff again, “But if that man’s as good as dead already, he may as well skip retirement and go right in the grave.”</p><p>It had been a dangerous move, provoking a demon as powerful as the one before them plainly was, but three mages and the rest of the Wardens, along with their two companions, were plenty to overpower the pair, and soon enough the Templar fell beneath the crushing blade of the nameless qunari, and Solona and Julian imprisoned the demon while Elissa Cousland ran it through.</p><p>“Can see why he likes you,” Kallian observed, wiping her knives with a rag as Julian and Lyna checked the Templar’s body for items of use. “I can’t see half of what you do as well as I can see his fire and all, but I can sure tell it works. Thanks for blocking that demon’s… whatever it was, by the way.”</p><p>“A minor disorientation spell. And anytime,” Solona cracked a grin, her blood pumping rapidly from the exertion and excitement. “The two of you have become close, then?”</p><p>Kallian shrugged, giving the mage an assessing glance. “Yeah. Not exclusive or anything, though. Julian and Elissa were together first, then I joined in, and I’m pretty sure Lyna and Elissa finally got together last night… it’s a bit of a mess, really, but it works out. And you’d be more than welcome to join.”</p><p>Solona raised an eyebrow at the proposition, but smiled all the same. “And here I thought everyone kissing everyone around here was just a product of there being little else to do,” she joked, “But I’m glad, for all of you.”</p><p>There was yet more fighting, of course, before they could reach the penultimate set of stairs, but in time they cleared the way, and Solona found herself reflecting with not a small amount of bitter irony that, had the Templars bothered to really try—and to help the innocent mages, rather than stabbing and smiting more or less anyone in sight, before they fled—they almost surely could have accomplished what this small band had managed over the course of just several hours.</p><p>Once the fighting was finished, the group paused as Julian distributed rolls, fish, and dried fruit from his pack, which Solona took to as enthusiastically as anyone, if not sating then at least soothing the pangs of the last several days. Stamina potions and rejuvenation spells were marvelous things, but a lack of proper food would take its toll regardless, and they needed to be as sharp as possible to finish saving their home.</p><p>Then, at last, they ascended the stairs to the fifth and penultimate floor.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And Solona returns to action! Honestly this whole thing was originally going to be Julian's POV, but I got to one break that felt appropriate for a switch and then figured I might as well use three character. Helps to show the different effects the Circle has on everyone, as well, and ideally to give Solona's character a bit more of a substantial introduction to the others.</p><p>Varena was not intended to be a substantial character, but... why would a repentant, combat-capable mage not help you stop what she helped set in motion? It can't be much more dangerous than trying to sneak past a dozen or so stab-happy templars into a world that would happily kill you at the first sign of magic.<br/>(Or as I put it to periferal, "How many repentant blood mages is too many for one party?")</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Lost in Dreams, Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solona blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the groggy feeling from her mind as she looked around… where had she been? </p><p>“Solona, there you are!” She turned to see Nicol hailing her, smiling broadly. “Come on, it’s almost time for the ritual.”</p><p>“Ritual?” Solona looked askance. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had—a moment of confusion, I think.”</p><p>“To seal away the Templars, of course,” Nicol smiled, paying no heed to her admission of disorientation. “Don’t you remember? It’s a shame about Uldred—and Irving, too, the poor man—but we beat back the abominations and conquered the Templars, and now we’re going to seal them away where they can never hurt us again.”</p><p>It sounded nice—too nice, in fact. If everything was so well, why didn't she remember any of it? What had happened?</p><p>“Seal away… but,” Solona pinched her brow, trying to stave off the ache in her head. “There was fighting…. They… they died, or…”</p><p><em> “We beat them,” </em> Nicol insisted, his eyes dancing brightly. “Don’t you remember?”</p><p>Did she? Everything felt hazy. How had she gotten here, she wondered, how had they won? The pressure on her mind intensified—</p><p>The pressure on her mind. Not her head. </p><p>She threw out her hand, and the thing wearing her dead friend’s specter screamed in rage and pain.</p><p>Of course, that wasn’t quite the end of it, but Solona had become fairly adept at fighting at least ordinary demons over the past few days, and that by the standards of a mage, trained from infancy to resist the malevolent spirits in the Fade. The desire demon, having shed its false form, leapt at her with an angry screech and she batted it aside with a field of cutting force.</p><p>“We offered peace! And triumph!” It howled, conjuring a blast of cold that Solona stopped in its tracks with another force field. “If all you want is suffering and death, then you shall have it!”</p><p>The demon tried to summon a force cage around her, and she dashed out of the way—Fade-stepping was truly odd when one was already in the Fade, she noted—before casting an imprisoning spell of her own, and finally taking a page out of Julian’s book and immolating the thing.</p><p>“Well, I see why Irving sent you with the army,” another familiar voice called, just as the demon’s screams of pain and anger faded into mist, and Solona turned to see Julian himself standing by an opened door. “I suppose this is some sort of utopian Circle?”</p><p>“That thing pretended to be Nicol,” she affirmed, gesturing to where the demon had perished. “It told me we’d cleansed the abominations and had to be on time to some ritual to seal away the Templars forever.”</p><p>Julian laughed. “Classic desire demon cock-up,” he grinned, “If it sounds too good to be true…”</p><p>“You’re probably dreaming,” Solona grinned back at him. “Where did you come from, though? I assume that… Sloth demon, it must have been, put us all in our own fantasies?”</p><p>“Mine tried to show me Duncan, and Weisshaupt,” Julian affirmed, scoffing at the attempt, “only Duncan was never the sort to relax, would never have pretended that a Grey Warden’s duty ever really ends… and Weisshaupt looked exactly like Ostagar.”</p><p>He paused. “Granted, I only noticed that last part after I got out. I spoke to Niall, as well; he showed me—wait!”</p><p>The realm around them was shifting, losing coherence. And Julian’s form was shifting, too, dissipating into and wavering between the currents of misty air that were the seeming substance of the Fade.</p><p>“This dream is breaking up,” Solona noted; they had only moments before they would return to the raw Fade. “What did Niall say?”</p><p>“Find the others,” Julian urged by way of an answer, “Kill the gatekeepers to reach their dreams. Once that’s done, we can all meet up in the center, that’s where we’ll find the big one. And remember, <em> only </em> your mind is present here: Everything else is expectation.”</p><p>So saying, he vanished into the mist, and then everything was gone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Julian stepped past the second gatekeeper’s stronghold… and came face-to-face with himself. It was Elissa’s dream, he realized peripherally, as he took in not only his fellow Warden, but the rest of the Cousland family and Castle Cousland, all gathered for some manner of celebratory feast. No one seemed to notice him at first, and he would almost have wondered if the whole scene was merely another attempt to entrap him, were it not for the fact that he was already there.</p><p>“Elissa,” he called, moving forward, “I’m glad I found you. We need to wake up.”</p><p>His doppelganger stood first, facing him with a challenging glare. “I don’t know what you are,” it intoned, in an eerie imitation of his own voice, “but you need to leave. Now.”</p><p>“You’re the spirit here, not I,” Julian rejoined with a short, sharp laugh. “Elissa, I’m sorry, but you know this can’t be real. Remember how we met?”</p><p>Elissa had also risen, her hand grasping for a sword that wasn’t there as she looked between the two identical mages. Not quite identical—the dream Julian was dressed in odd-looking formal robes, half magelike and half courtly, while Julian himself wore an echo of the worn, dirty Enchanter’s robes and borrowed leather cuirass he had worn in reality since Ostagar—but their features were the same, and the differences that existed would not help her tell which was real unless she could remember for herself.</p><p>“Duncan brought me,” Julian pressed, his gaze flickering involuntarily to the shades of the Cousland family, including a dark-haired man a few years Elissa’s senior, who must have been her brother, Fergus. “We had come from the Circle, on our way to Ostagar… the same day Arl Howe arrived.”</p><p>“Oh, Rendon?” The false Lady Cousland responded with a smile. “It’s always lovely when he comes to visit. He and your father get on so well, don’t they, darling?”</p><p>“He… They…” Elissa’s face was contorted in concentration. Julian hovered, one eye on her and one on his double, unsure if he should speak further, but in a moment Elissa continued, “No—No, Howe, he came—His men, in the night… But…”</p><p>“This is the Fade,” Julian murmured sadly. “You remember what happened. This is an illusion, an appeal to your deepest desires to keep you trapped here, so they can feed on our emotions as our bodies wither away.”</p><p>“No,” Elissa whispered desperately, looking back and forth between Julians in a panic, “No, please—”</p><p>Julian’s countenance shattered, and he held out his hand, palm up, his expression riven with sympathy and regret. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Elissa,” he murmured, “I am so, so sorry. It was my failing, as much as anyone’s, and I know you want them back—if I had ever known my family… but they’re gone. You know that. And I can’t bring Howe to justice without you by my side.”</p><p>“I don’t—” Elissa’s voice broke, as tears built at the corners of her eyes. “I just… I want them back, Jules. I want my parents back.”</p><p>“I know, Elissa, I know.” She clasped his hand, and he pressed his thumb firmly, gently against the back of her hand as he continued, “It’s not fair. This world isn’t fair. Not to mages, not to elves, not even to you. But your parents wanted you to live, and so do we. You’ve lost so much, Elissa, but you are still loved. We need you. Me and Kallian and Lyna and Alistair—stay with us. Please.”</p><p>Elissa nodded, blinking heavily, and drew in  breath to respond. </p><p>“NO!” The demons’ scream cut her short, and Julian turned to blast them back—Fergus, the closest, and his double, vaulting itself over the table—with a wave of fire as they lunged for the two Wardens. “We offered your family! Peace, rest, love! If this is not enough for you, then we will feast on your deaths!”</p><p>Julian stepped around Elissa, raising his hands to rain lightning and fire on the spirits that still wore the crumbling forms of her family and himself. But the noble herself stood firm and advanced again to fight beside him, her formal dress replaced with her familiar armor, and her sword and shield in hand.</p><p><em> “Die,” </em> she snarled, thrusting her sword through the belly of the thing pretending to be her mother. “You’re nothing but a beast of lies, a spectral Howe. You mock her memory to bait me into the trap that killed her? I will tear you to <em> pieces, demon.” </em></p><p>So saying, she twisted her sword, and her mother’s distorted face melted into the agonized visage of a dissolving demon—though the spirit remained long enough for her to cut its malformed head off, sending it bouncing from the benches to the floor of the hall. At almost the same instant, Julian—who had become locked in a duel with his spectral double—overcame his impostor’s defenses. A thunderous bolt of lightning coursed through the spellcasting demon’s form, drawing one last garbled, hideous scream, and then the Wardens were alone.</p><p>Elissa turned slowly, her weapons fading out of existence, and collapsed against the mage’s chest, throwing her arms around him weakly, but with recovering strength as she shuddered with an exhausted mix of horror, sadness, and relief.</p><p>“Hold me, please,” she murmured, clenching her fingers around handfuls of his robe. “Just—I wanted it to be real. I…” she took a ragged breath, drawing her arms around him, “I almost didn’t stop it, even when I knew. I just… I need someone real, please.”</p><p>“I can’t, Elissa, I’m sorry,” he replied softly, stroking her hair. “The demons are gone, that means the dream will start fading any second now. Sloth is still keeping us under, so you’ll still be in the Fade, but… it should be easier to recognize, though it will still be treacherous. Try to make it to the center, alright? We’ll meet you there and beat this thing. All of us, together.”</p><p>She breathed in deeply, nodding against him, then stood back and smoothed his robe where she had held him. </p><p>“Right,” Elissa agreed, looking him in the eye. “Meet you in the center, Commander.”</p><p>Julian stepped back a half-pace in confusion and surprise, even as he raised his hand in farewell, and then the mists of the Fade rippled around and between them, and he was once more alone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The mists parted around Solona to reveal the interior of a small, dimly-lit home—a crowded hovel, really, made comfortable by the amber tint of fond memory. Well aware of the Fade’s misrepresentations, Solona could still see how someone would come to love such a place, at least in retrospect: It had the promise of privacy, unlike even the most private mages’ quarters in the Circle, and bore an almost physical warmth that spoke to the strength of the memories the dream built on.</p><p>As for the dreamer, a familiar blonde elf sat at a rough-hewn table not far from her. With her were two older elves, both grey-haired despite their bodies looking middle-aged, and two other elves—a red-haired woman and a narrow, brown-haired man—both about Kallian’s age. </p><p>“We’re just so glad to have you back, da’len,” the man was saying to Kallian, smiling fondly. “Adaia could hardly sleep while you were away.”</p><p>The scene was unfamiliar to Solona, but it was easy to infer that the older elves were the Warden’s parents—though something about the tenor of the Fade made her think there was something more to it than that. She stepped forward, clearing her throat politely.</p><p>“Kallian? Kallian Tabris, right?”</p><p>The blonde elf looked up at her, sharply. “What’s it to you, shem?”</p><p>Solona smiled agreeably, her hands loose at her sides, palms forward. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m Solona Amell—Julian’s friend, we met for the first time at Ostagar.”</p><p>“Ostagar?” Kallian frowned, looking at her strangely. “I don’t—ow,” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Who are you again?”</p><p>“It hardly matters, does it?” The redhead commented with biting force. “She’s a shemlen. A mage, too, by the look of her. She doesn’t belong here.”</p><p>“No, that’s not—” Kallian looked at the redhead oddly; perhaps, Solona guessed, the bit about mages had been out of character, or simply too harsh for the Warden to accept easily after weeks traveling with one as her friend and ally. But the spirits weren’t done trying to chase her away.</p><p>“Young lady, you are disturbing my daughter,” the imitation of Kallian’s father inserted himself into the conversation, coming bodily between the dreaming Warden and the mage. “I must insist you depart.”</p><p>“Kallian,” she repeated, speaking around the demon without acknowledging it, “I’m Solona Amell. Julian’s friend—Remember, in the Grey Wardens. They,” she gestured to the imaginary family, “said you’d come back, but come back from where? How did you get here? You have to <em> remember </em>.”</p><p>“Remember?” Kallian frowned. “The… the arl’s son came. Shianni, I had to—wait, but then… I killed him, then Duncan… we had to leave. That’s where I was, but—”</p><p>“What happened?” Solona insisted. “You went with Duncan and Julian and Elissa to Ostagar, and then what happened?”</p><p>“I…” Kallian blinked. “The battle. Nelaros. The witch. This… This is wrong. Ow,” she added, pinching her forehead as she cast a suspicious look at the table.</p><p>“You can resist it,” Solona urged, placing a hand on her shoulder. “This is a dream, a forced dream. The demon controlling it is trying to control you, but you<em> know </em> this isn’t right, this is past and gone. Remember who you are. Remember what you’ve achieved. <em> Keep moving forward.” </em></p><p>Kallian nodded, biting her lip as she surveyed the room—and then her gaze landed on the spirit in the shape of her mother, and she let out a furious scream.</p><p>
  <em> “Die in the Void, you liar!” </em>
</p><p>A rough-hewn knife, its handle wrapped in red leather, flew across the room and caught the greying elven woman in the throat. The demon responded with an inarticulate, outraged cry, and soon Kallian and Solona found themselves beset by the near half-dozen spirits who had been posing as the Warden’s family. Between Solona’s expertise in interwoven branches of Spirit and Entropy magic, however, and Kallian’s hard-learned precision, speed, and ferocity, the battle was as brief as it was intense and emotionally brutal.</p><p>Kallian pitched forward onto her knees as the last demon—the one that had been the red-haired girl, Solona thought—dissipated into the Fade, her hands grasping aimlessly at nothing.</p><p>“I can’t… It seemed so real,” she murmured, staring at the spot where the demon had fallen. “Mama—The guard killed her years ago, and the arl’s men got Nelaros right before I met Duncan. Maker,” she added, half-laughing at herself mirthlessly, “I don’t even know what he was doing there, it’s not like I knew him at all. But even then, even with that, I thought—”</p><p>“That’s what the Fade is,” Solona observed, sympathetically. “It’s the place of dreams—Pipe dreams, aching dreams, dreams that could be real tomorrow and dreams of a different yesteryear. Most people never realize they’re dreaming at the time, that’s just how it works.”</p><p>“But you did,” Kallian pointed out, looking up as Solona bunched her robes to sit beside her. “Or someone did, somewhere up the line. Didn’t you?”</p><p>Solona nodded. “It’s part of being a mage—half aptitude, half necessity. Benevolent spirits don’t tend to bother anyone, but demons are drawn to mages, especially when we’re in the Fade like this. The better you can learn to tell when you’re dreaming, the easier it is to keep yourself safe.”</p><p>Kallian exhaled sharply, an exhausted sound that was too flat in its affect to be any sort of laugh. “Maker, you pay for your gifts,” she muttered, “and it must be even worse around here.”</p><p>“It’s certainly been bad lately,” Solona observed with a dry, faux-humorous shrug. “Anders swears he always sleeps better outside, at least until the Templars catch him, but from what the ones like Wynne say, I think it depends on the mage.”</p><p>The world seemed to ripple, and she stood again, cutting her ruminations short. “I certainly wouldn’t mind joining your group,” she added, “but first we have to beat the demon at the center of all this, otherwise none of us are getting outside again. Find your way to the center, and we’ll meet you there.”</p><p>Kallian opened her mouth to reply, rising to her feet in turn, but the world blurred and shifted as she moved, and before the sound of her voice could reach Solona, both Warden and hovel were gone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next dream Julian came across was not, to his irrational surprise, a fellow Warden’s, but rather—and quite obviously—Leliana’s. </p><p>The former Chantry sister was kneeling in what looked to be a secluded corner of the Lothering chantry, murmuring all-too-familiar prayers as a stern-looking elderly woman watched over her.</p><p>“Leliana,” he called, softly, so as not to seem too out of place, “It’s good to see you’re alright.”</p><p>The redhead didn’t seem to hear him at first, continuing her mantras in a way that reminded Julian, suddenly and terribly, of Keili, her dream of Tranquility, and her desperate desire to be redeemed or forgiven in the Maker’s eyes for the awful crime of having been born with magic. Before he could draw breath to address her again, though, Leliana looked up at him—in confusion, as at a stranger.</p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p>Julian raised his brow but made to answer: For a non-mage, especially, to be confused and forgetful in the Fade was only natural. But the elderly Chantry mother—or rather, the demon masquerading as one—beat him to the strike.</p><p>“I beg you,” it implored, in a familiarly wheezing yet imperiously condescending tone, “do not disturb the girl’s meditations.”</p><p>“Revered Mother,” Leliana interrupted, her meditations well disturbed, “I do not know this person.”</p><p>Julian nearly fell back a pace. He had, it was true, spent less time with the Chantry sister on the road than he had with Morrigan or his fellow Wardens, but he had spoken with her—he had been the one to agree that she could accompany them, despite even Alistair’s skepticism. If she felt like such an outsider that she could forget him and her journey entirely, he would have to make an effort to change that… but, that thought at least gave him an idea.</p><p>“You may not remember me,” he allowed, spreading his hands acceptingly, “but surely you remember why you left the cloister? We discussed it when you first chose to travel with the Grey Wardens; it was very important you.”</p><p>Leliana nodded, her expression softening into one of faint remembrance. </p><p>“Yes,” she murmured, “There was… a sign—” </p><p>She reached up to pinch her brow, and the demon jumped back in, scolding her, “Leliana, we have discussed this… ‘sign’ of yours. The Maker does not care to interfere in the affairs of mortals. This ‘vision’ was likely the work of demons.”</p><p>“Well, you would certainly know about the works of demons,” the remark slipped out of Julian’s mouth unintentionally, “Being one yourself, and all.”</p><p>Which was not precisely the most helpful thing to say, especially since in her dreaming state Leliana appeared to remember nothing of the talks about the Fade that she’d sat in on around the campfire. Fortunately, the demon was off-balance from being so directly identified and, more importantly, the massive wedge now driven into its cage around Leliana’s mind—and when the former lay sister firmly announced her intention to leave, it lost all control.</p><p>“I will not permit it!” The demon screeched, shedding its disguise with remarkable haste and reaching for its escaping victim, but in an instant Julian had raised a wall of ice and Leliana wasn’t there, anyways. </p><p>When Julian turned to look, Leliana’s robes had already faded into her armor and knives, and she dodged another sweeping claw-strike to score the demon’s belly deeply. He called up phantom earth to protect her, then bathed the distracted demon in fire. Its attention thus shifted back and forth between them, and soon enough it collapsed with a hideous groan and faded into the returning mists.</p><p>“My head feels heavy,” Leliana murmured, “as though I’ve just awoken from a terrible dream.”</p><p>“Well, we’re not quite awake yet,” Julian warned her with a weary grin, “But we’re making progress. This dream won’t last much longer—make your way to the center, and we can conquer the big one together.”</p><p>The raw Fade condensed about him again, and Julian sighed. If Solona was making comparable progress—and given the focus of her studies, that was almost assured—then he should only have to find another one or two of his companions before the way would be open, and the challenge to Sloth prepared.</p><p>He looked around, letting his mind follow the thoughts and associations brought forth by the architecture of his surroundings, and set off in search of another demon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lost in Dreams was originally meant to be one chapter, but with the number of people involved it felt better to split it; length was also a second consideration (in addition to how difficult it is to adapt the very game-mechanics-based meanderings through the demon strongholds to narrative) in deciding to focus solely on the trap dreams. </p><p>This was also the point where I realized what I've done to myself by adding not just extra Wardens but three original companions. Eh, they'll need it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Lost in Dreams, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beyond the next demon—and, he guessed, probably the last, given what he had been able to map about the architecture—the Fade resolved into the old trees and dense undergrowth of the Brecilian Forest. A trio of elves sat on the high bank of a babbling stream: he recognized Merrill, the First of Lyna’s clan, sitting behind his fellow Warden, twining her fingers through Lyna’s dark hair, while a male elf with hair a shade lighter than own—Tamlen, Julian surmised—lay beside them, running one hand along Lyna’s arm.</p><p>“I’ll say it again,” the blonde elf noted, raising his arm to twirl a lock of hair that had escaped Merrill’s braiding, “We’re very glad to have you back, da’len. I’m so sorry you had to live through that fearful nightmare—I mean, really, shemlen <em> and </em> darkspawn? I wouldn’t wish that combination on my worst enemy.”</p><p>“I thought the shemlen were your worst enemy,” Lyna laughed, batting at his hand, only for him to capture hers and begin tracing his thumb over her wrist. </p><p>“The shemlen are their own worst enemy,” Tamlen joked, adding more sincerely, “and the enemy of the People as a whole. No, I’d say my own worst enemy is… Merrill!”</p><p>“What have I ever done to you, da’len?” Merrill sighed ironically, not moving from her spot behind Lyna. </p><p>“Well, you steal my dearest hunting partner away from me at all hours, for one,” Tamlen observed, pulling Lyna by the wrist he held so that she fell over, out of Merrill’s grasp, splaying across the grasp with a delighted cry of mock offense. “Now, my hunter—”</p><p>“Ahem.” Julian coughed loudly before anything more could unfold: He had no desire to spy on Lyna, much less to see her in the arms of demons—or to see her subject to the dangers such distractions presented in the Fade.</p><p>Tamlen sprang up instantly, drawing a long knife—a short sword, really, longer even than Lyna’s own knives, though not so large as Alistair’s or Elissa’s arming swords—and gave him a narrow-eyed glare as he threatened, “Leave now, <em> shemlen </em>, or you will not be the last of your kind to suffer for this trespass.”</p><p>Julian barked a laugh, raising one hand to brush his hair back and clearly reveal his species.</p><p>“Notice the ears?” he replied, raising an eyebrow impassively. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for my friend. Lyna, we need to wake up.”</p><p>The hunter looked at him in confusion, still on the ground although she’d returned to a seated, almost coiled, position. Unlike Tamlen—and Merrill, whose staff lay on the ground beside her—Lyna’s weapons were nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“Wake up? But we…” Her gaze flickered to Tamlen, then to Merrill, and back to Julian, and she sighed deeply and seemed to sink into herself. “We’re in the Fade, then?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so,” Julian nodded. “I’m impressed; you figured that out much faster than Lyna or Leliana. Only Sol and I seem to have broken out on our own—perks of having to deal with this sort of thing all the time. Unfortunately, that means your friends here are demons.”</p><p>“Lyna, don’t trust this—this <em> tower slave,” </em>Tamlen urged, gesticulating faintly with his sword. Lyna turned to him, a sorrowful look in her eye, and shook her head.</p><p>“You’re <em> dead</em>, Tamlen,” she murmured, reaching for the knife that was once again at her belt. “You found that mirror and you touched it, and the darkspawn took you away.”</p><p>Tamlen’s visage distorted at her words, and the demon lunged for Lyna with a hateful scream, but she knocked its blade aside and drew her dagger hard and swift across its throat. At the same time, Julian cast a barrier to absorb the cone of cold that the Merrill-impostor directed at them, then pummeled the desire demon with lightning and fire until it collapsed in on itself and dissipated into the Fade.</p><p>Lyna’s shade was made of sterner stuff than a single strike could banish, as well, especially in the Fade, where bodily injuries were more metaphorical in their provenance, but she evaded the impostor’s strokes with the sword and angry, clawing swipes with its distended hand, and soon enough bore it to the ground, staring into the mocking imitations of her lost friend’s eyes as the demon faded from being.</p><p>“I almost could have stayed,” she sighed, brushing off her knees as she stood to face Julian. “I almost could have—but I am Dalish, and a Grey Warden. I would not dishonor my clan by preferring illusions of them for myself to their survival, and I will never abandon my vows.”</p><p>Julian nodded in quiet thanks. “We are all committed,” he agreed, “but I know… I never felt like I had much, living in the Circle, but the Wardens were a way out for me, not a sacrifice. Your strength—That’s something we’re all going to need to draw on, I think, each of us from the others.”</p><p>Lyna shrugged. “You’ve lost as much as any of us now,” she pointed out, and Julian stumbled at the reminder of what waited once they finally did return to the waking world.</p><p>“As I said,” he noted, smiling mirthlessly, before repeating what he and Solona had discussed as the Fade began to ripple around them. “It shouldn’t be long before the way is clear.”</p><p>Lyna nodded and moved as if to say something else, but before the words could pass between them, the last echoes of the dream dissolved, and Julian found himself listening attentively to an empty, echoing maze of formless, forgotten pines.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Solona struck down the final guardian demon and, without comment, pressed on. Removing the qunari from his dream had been an… <em> interesting </em> experience, and she wondered what had possessed Julian, or his companions, to allow a representative of that brutal people to travel with them—though, admittedly, this Sten seemed less concerned, at least for now, with his personal honor and his particular mission than with enforcing any of his people’s strictures about magi.</p><p>At least, she supposed, he had kept his comments about uncontrolled mages mostly to himself, though he had not been so silent as to cause her to question her history. He hadn’t criticized their situation, either, after all, as Elissa and the elves had—and if the Qun were not just what the Chantry said it was, then surely the mages of the South would never have turned the tide of the invasion.</p><p>The fact that they hadn’t erupted in rebellion during the Exalted Marches of the Black Age, for that matter, surely proved that the Chantry’s fears of mages were largely unjustified—but down that path lay political theory, and Solona had more pressing matters to deal with than Anders’ absurdist notions about introducing fraternity politics to the masses.</p><p>The Fade warped around her, and she found herself back in the Circle tower—just as it was at that moment, or nearly so, the walls streaked with blood and piled with unearthly viscera. Dead mages sprawled across the floor; some she recognized, and looked away from, while others were as strangers. Though it could, perhaps, have been one of the others, horrified beyond expression at what they had found within the Circle, there was no real mystery as to whose dream this was.</p><p>“Solona,” Varena’s voice wafted over the bodies, thick with grief, “Solona, please. I can’t—I can’t get out. These idiots, every time I try to move, they...”</p><p>The repentant blood mage flung out her hand as Solona raised her eyes to meet her, and the corpses lurched unsteadily to their feet.</p><p>“You did this, ‘Rena,” Nicol groaned, malice glittering in one dark eye as blood seeped steadily down over the other. “You and the rest of Uldred’s dogs, no better than Templars.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck </em> off,” Varena snarled, either finally pushed to her limits or invigorated by Solona’s arrival. “Yes, I betrayed you. I sided with Uldred, I as good as killed you—killed my <em> friends</em>—myself. But guess what? <em> You aren’t my friend. </em> And you will not make me fall down in grief by desecrating the memories of those I should mourn!”</p><p>“Well said,” Solona mused as she stepped further into the room. “At least you understand you should mourn them… and I’m glad to see all the blood magic hasn’t taken your ability to recognize the Fade.”</p><p>Narrowed, glinting eyes flashed in her direction, but of course Varena had recognized her before; if she had been uncertain whether Solona was truly who she appeared to be, she satisfied herself quickly enough, and her combat-ready gaze turned merely sour.</p><p>“Amell,” she greeted flatly. “It really is you. Help me kill these morbid freaks, would you? I can’t get past them all on my own.”</p><p>“Again, Varena?” Nicol hissed, raising one hand in a clawlike fist. “Can you <em> stand </em> to cut us down again? To see us die at your own hand, <em> at your own hand? </em> Can you murd—”</p><p>Solona cut him off with a walking-bomb spell, twisting the magic to detonate it instantly. The false Nicol roared—a sound like one of Julian’s specialized glyphs sounding through a long tunnel—as its form inverted and warped back into shape. With a high, guttural scream, it shed the fallen mage’s form, and Solona swung out with her staff to intercept the talons of a vicious-looking shade.</p><p><em> “We </em> will kill you,” she murmured, gathering magical force in her free hand, “without hesitation. Because we know what you are, no matter what faces you wear, and we will not let our grief subject us to the same ends that you have inflicted on our <em> friends.” </em></p><p>The spell erupted from her hand, staggering the demon with the force of its impact and draining its energy. It screeched again, flailing wildly, and Varena shouted a warning, fire spouting from her hands as more of the demons rose to attack them. Solona ducked and twisted, laying down glyphs and hexes as the former blood mage unleashed the elements on the horde of minor shades.</p><p>One last demon surged through Varena’s fire, and Solona struck it with a cutting force that reduced it to a pile of rags before it hit the ground, a last gust of hollow cold washing over them and leaving the bitter taste of desolation in its wake.</p><p>“Ugh,” the pyromancer spat dryly as the demon’s hoarse whispers faded to nothing. “I have enough on my real conscience without these… <em> venhedi </em> soul-drinkers coming around to make friends. Now, what in Andraste’s name is going on here?”</p><p>The dream rippled as she spoke, the structure of the Fade giving way in the absence of the demons who’d controlled it—but unlike before, there was a sense of a deeper shift occurring, the unraveling of a greater structure that had been hanging by a thread that was no more.</p><p>Solona felt a slender knot of anxiety unwind in her chest. There was more to do, always, but they had passed the maze. The others would be safe, and they would face the great Sloth demon together.</p><p>“Change, my dear,” she replied, a sincere smile reaching across her face. “And, it seems, not a moment too soon.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Of all the places Julian had expected to find Alistair, a dream of urban domesticity, surrounded by people he had never seen before, was certainly not on the list. Several young children occupied the space, as did a modestly hewn table and a woman in commoner’s clothing, blonde hair falling in waves around a face that bore a striking similarity to Alistair’s. </p><p>“Oh, Julian!” The mage found his attention drawn back to the ex-templar, who had noticed his arrival unprompted and approached with a broad smile and open arms. “Hello again! I’m so glad you were able to make it. This is my sister, Goldanna,” he swept his arm toward the woman, who smiled and nodded politely. “These are her children, and there’s more about somewhere. We’re one big happy family, at long last.”</p><p>Julian smiled in return and nodded tiredly. They had all been in the demon’s realm too long at this point, and something about the templar—as decent as he was, generally—coincided with his general disinclination to be less than forthright with people he wasn’t actively trying to manipulate, though in most cases that tendency was not what one might call rude.</p><p>“They’re demons, you know,” he replied, nodding at the picturesque family. His friend, however, was undeterred by the statement of the obvious.</p><p>“Oh, that’s what everyone says about their relatives,” Alistair grinned; it was, perhaps, too obvious a line for Julian to have overlooked. It was also, perhaps, actually funny, although Julian would prefer to laugh about it in the waking world. “But I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”</p><p>“I’m overjoyed to have my little brother back,” Not-Goldanna threw in her coppers as she threw an arm about Alistair’s shoulders, adding with a subtly warning tone, “I’ll never let him out of my sight again.”</p><p>Julian sighed. He usually liked outwitting demons, but then usually they were trying to tempt him, and he found it amusing to string them along before slamming the door on their toes. Every demon here was just trying to bore him to death. Literally, in the end.</p><p>“May I borrow him for a moment?” he asked, his tone not quite sharp. “We have business elsewhere.”</p><p>“I don’t want to spend my life fighting darkspawn,” Alistair drew back, almost plaintive, “and end up dead in a pit somewhere. Can’t you stay for supper? Goldanna can make her famous stew.”</p><p>“Of course, dear brother,” Goldanna smiled. It was not the sort of smile that one usually directed at dinner guests—though perhaps one might direct it at something else involved. “Anything for you.”</p><p>Julian ignored her; tasting a demon’s cooking had never been high on his list of priorities—although, he admitted, there was a time it had ranked higher than caring about a templar. “I can’t stay,” he replied, “and you shouldn’t either, Alistair.”</p><p>“You’re acting very strangely,” the ex-templar frowned again, this time more critically. It was almost as if he was looking for a way to stay in the dream—but he’d just given Julian a chance to show him the truth.</p><p>Julian reached forward and took his hands, looking him in the eye as he pressed, “<em> Think </em>, Alistair. Think about how you got here. Think carefully.”</p><p>“All right,” Alistair sighed, “I don’t know what you’re after, but… wait…” </p><p>“Alistair,” Goldanna urged, with what was probably “come and have some tea.”</p><p>“No… wait,” Alistair held up one hand, raising the other to his forehead. “I remember a… tower. The Circle… It was under attack. There was a demon. That’s… all I really remember.”</p><p>Julian nodded patiently. “Because that’s all that happened,” he confirmed. “We’re in the Fade, trapped by a Sloth demon.”</p><p>“This—You’re saying this is all a dream?” Alistair asked, releasing his hands and stepping back, looking around in disbelief. “But it feels so real.”</p><p>Goldanna tried one more time to lure him back into the narrative of the dream, but Alistair was too disturbed by what Julian had helped him to recall. He shook his head, backing up as he glanced around uncertainly, trying to excuse himself politely as if from a family gathering, “I… I think I should go.”</p><p>“No!” Goldanna snarled, warping monstrously as her voice echoed with malice. “He is ours, and I would rather see him dead than free!”</p><p>A few more demons came to her aid, but in moments it was they, not Alistair, who were dead and seeping without a trace back into the weft of the Fade. Alistair looked at his hands, then up at Julian, his brow still creased with confusion and concern.</p><p>“Goldanna? I can’t believe it,” he murmured, staring intently at Julian, his voice laced with doubt and self-recrimination. “How did I not see this earlier?”<br/>“It’s the Fade,” Julian shrugged, “It’s not like the real world. If you aren’t used to it, all kinds of impossible things can happen that you’d never think twice about. Usually, that’s only really dangerous to a mage—we form a bridge through the Veil that makes us interesting to demons, so we have to learn to tell very quickly when we’re dreaming. Sol’s been going around getting people, too, but of everyone I’ve helped, only Lyna was close to waking up on her own.”</p><p>“Right,” Alistair grimaced, Julian’s reassurances largely washing over him. “Well, if you could not tell everyone how easily fooled I was, that would be appreciated.”</p><p>Julian laughed, waving dismissively as he grinned at the ex-templar. “Your dreams are your own,” he promised, his smile fading into heavy, pointed sincerity, “to discuss, or not, as you desire. If you want to talk about it with anyone, ask them, but don’t push it—and come to me if anyone does the same to you, alright?”</p><p>Alistair gave him a searching look—perhaps his templar training hadn’t prepared him for the idea of a mage who wanted to help, and was ready and able to take responsibility for doing so—but nodded and finally returned a smile of his own.</p><p>“Now, then,” Julian grinned again as the Fade began to shift around them, “There’s danger and injustice ahead, and I’m sure that somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, we’ve got work to do!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They emerged into a great chamber in the raw Fade, an open hollow in one of the formless islands that made up the realm of dreams. Sloth stood before them, wearing the form of an arcane horror—more grandiose than its hunchbacked, asymmetrical appearance in reality, but with a corpse-like visage that was every bit as grotesque as its half-shriveled, half-molten true body. Solona wondered, briefly, why it had not chosen to appear less terrible; perhaps it was simply so twisted that such a thing was beyond it, even in the heart of its territory in the Fade.</p><p>Or perhaps assuming a more pleasing form would simply have been too much effort. Unfortunately, even demons like Sloth, that tended to play up their own defining traits in part to seem less threatening, would fight viciously when their power was threatened. </p><p>Julian caught her eye and nodded as the various non-mages expressed their wonder and astonishment; the other Wardens, she noted, seemed quickest to prepare themselves, drawing bow and knives and sword and shield and falling into position beside the mages. Beside her, Varena whispered under her breath, and Solona felt the faint pull as currents of magic began gathering for an elemental attack of tremendous proportions.</p><p><em> Good to see she’s not about to turn to blood magic for something like this, </em> Solona thought; the Sloth demon would be a serious challenge, to be certain, but not so monumental a challenge that she would feel comfortable around Varena if the other mage had gone directly to her most radical weapons.</p><p>“My, my,” the demon sneered, “what have we here? An escaped prisoner? Runaway slaves? My, my, but you do have some gall. No matter. Playtime is over, mortals; you all have to go back now.” </p><p>“That is not going to happen, spirit,” Solona declared, gathering a spell herself as she stepped forward. “We’re <em> all </em>wise to your tricks now, and your servants are gone. You cannot control us, you cannot contain us… but we can certainly destroy you.”</p><p>“And you know it,” Leliana of all people added, twirling an ornate, vicious knife as she goaded the demon. “That is why you divided us. You are afraid—afraid of what <em> we </em> can accomplish together.”</p><p>“Well said,” Kallian pitched in, drifting left around Sloth as she gestured to Julian and Solona. “Really, you couldn’t even trick the two of them the first time. You think you’re going to fool us all, now that we’ve learned to fight your influence?”</p><p>With its desiccated features, Sloth was incapable of real facial expressions, but it somehow managed to smile wretchedly at them as it loomed in warning. “If you go quietly,” it promised, in a voice like rotting silks, “I’ll do better this time. I’ll make you all <em> much </em> happier.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think so,” Julian murmured, smiling dangerously, and Solona felt a confident grin steal across her face as her friend moved forward. He was, after all, the owner of the best Kinloch Harrowing record in living memory, and he had brutal command of the primal elements besides. Whatever was about to happen was surely going to be impressive, and utterly exceptional to witness in person.</p><p>“We will make our own happiness, demon,” the half-elf orated. “Do you see how we’ve all chosen to leave your nightmares? The real world matters. You know that—otherwise you’d never have joined whatever mad fool you’ve inhabited out there. </p><p>“Can’t you think about someone other than yourself? I’m hurt. So very, <em> very </em> hurt.”</p><p>Julian cast his eyes over the demon’s morbidly grandiose, skeletal frame, standing tall and unslothfully proud. He exhaled softly, making a sharp sound against the back of his mouth, and pressed his lips together, still smiling wryly.</p><p>“Sorry,” he tilted his head in perhaps the most obviously false show of contrition he had ever performed, and Solona knew he could act masterfully when called to, “but I’d rather just be rid of your evil right now. It’s making this place… <em> boring. </em>”</p><p>With an angry snarl, Sloth shifted forms—a transformation so swift it could hardly be seen, but Solona was ready. Thrusting her arm forward and grounding her staff, she captured the massive ogre that took the demon’s place in a telekinetic cage of crushing force. Julian laughed delightedly and bathed the monster in flames, as did Varena. Sloth roared in anger and thrashed against his bonds, but so long as Solona maintained her spell, it was helpless to move.</p><p>Of course, she couldn’t maintain a spell of that power forever, and when the cage dropped, the demon charged for her directly. Julian and Varena both struck it with frost, but Sloth thundered forward even as they sapped its strength—until Alistair and Elissa, moving as one, threw themselves shield-by-shield into its path. With its assumed bulk, the ogre-shaped demon tossed them aside with ease, but the collision knocked it from its relentless forward charge. Julian yelled and cast a static cage around the ogre, an elemental parallel to Solona’s own crushing prison, and she cast a spell wisp to rejuvenate him as he concentrated on the demon.</p><p>When the weakened, faintly smoking Sloth-ogre finally broke free of Julian’s prison, Leliana and Kallian leapt to attack it, striking at its hamstrings as Lyna showered it with arrows from the far slope of the hollow. The combined magical and pseudo-physical assaults proved too much for that form, and Sloth screamed in rage, the sound warning Elissa off a coup-de-grace blow as the ogre’s body erupted in light.</p><p>The form that appeared in place of the ogre, however, nearly stunned Solona into inaction for how poorly chosen it seemed to be. Julian and Varena, however, faced no such restraint, their matching spells combining to seal the rage demon instantly in a prison of ice. Elissa recovered from her aborted strike and shattered the frozen demon with sword and shield, and the molten shape of the rage demon gave way to the wrinkled, lumpy husk of a powerful abomination.</p><p>The warriors continued their assault, rejoined by Kallian and Leliana, as the mages divided their efforts between hampering Sloth with milder spells and rejuvenating the blade-bearers whenever the demon connected with one of its powerful blows. As dangerous as its grotesque form remained, however, it was neither as deadly nor as durable as either of its preceding forms, and their coordinated efforts steadily wore it down, until Kallian finally drove her blade into the mass behind its neck, staggering the demon fatally and springing away in preparation.</p><p>“No more games!” Sloth cried in agonized fury, twisting once again as it resumed its original form. “Face me, and die!”</p><p>“Not… bloody… likely,” Solona retorted, laughing harshly as she grounded her staff and caged the demon in another crushing prison. Julian followed up with a fireball, held close to the demon by Solona’s own spell, and gestured to Elissa and Alistair, whose swords glowed with magical rime. </p><p>The shieldbearers advanced, protecting themselves from the flames that still licked out past Solona’s barrier, and struck precisely with their frosted blades at the demon’s heat-stressed form. Their obvious effectiveness impressed Solona: a sword was a sword, as far as she had ever considered, and not the ideal weapon to use in the Fade—but these were clearly well-known to their wielders, to retain their strength even in the realm of ideas and dreams.</p><p>Finally, hemmed in by Solona’s wards and worn down by enchanted blades, the demon stumbled. Julian shouted a warning to the others and began a familiar gesture; when Solona felt Varena’s magic building as well, she knew what he intended and added her strength to theirs as Varena frosted the monstrosity and Julian, with a bellow of effort and a dramatic gesture, called down a blinding thunderbolt to shatter its final form.</p><p>The ice and rime exploded into a wave of mist, and the demon left behind staggered, groaning with impotent hatred and envy, and collapsed, the last of its power exhausted.</p><p>“You’ve done it,” a wavering voice came from the edge of the arena as the demon’s form dissolved, and Solona turned with the others to see Niall gazing in mournful relief at the spot where Sloth had been. “I never expected this to happen… for someone to come along who could escape, who could free us all.”</p><p>His expression faltered, and he added, more softly, “When you return… take the Litany of Adralla from my body. That will protect against the ritual they’re using upstairs, the blood compulsion.”</p><p>“Your body?” Julian frowned. “But, if we can return—”</p><p>“I cannot go with you,” Niall replied matter-of-factly. “I have been here far too long. For you it will have been an afternoon’s nap. Your body won’t have wasted away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of the demon.”</p><p>“You—you don’t think you’re dying,” Solona interrupted, coming forward as she cast an instinctual glance over his form. He did look somewhat weary, but of course anything that was wrong with him would not necessarily be reflected in his appearance here. Niall inclined his head in confirmation.</p><p>“Every minute I was here,” he sighed, “Sloth fed on me, using my life to power the nightmares of this realm—there’s barely any of me left. I was never meant to save the Circle… or survive its troubles. I am dying. It’s as simple as that.”</p><p>“That is nonsense, no one is <em> meant </em> to perish except of old age,” she urged, restorative magic flowing readily to her hand, though she knew it wasn’t in the Fade that Niall would need the cure. “I can heal you, you know that.”</p><p>But Niall only shook his head sadly. “Thank you, but not anymore,” he insisted. “It’s been too long for me. I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker in death, and that isn’t such a terrible thing. My only regret is that I could not save the Circle… but you two? You can. Take the Litany off my body when you return. It <em> is </em> important!”</p><p>“We will,” Julian promised, nodding solemnly in response to his fellow’s almost desperate insistence. Niall sighed.</p><p>“I’m not… a hero,” he murmured. “Perhaps trying to be one was foolish.”</p><p>The half-elf shook his head. “Heroes are just people celebrated for their actions,” he observed, “and I think you’ve done about as much as anyone to save the Circle, here.”</p><p>“Dark times, greater acts of heroism, eh? You may be right,” Niall chuckled sadly, before reflecting quietly, “Before I was taken to the Circle, my mother said I was meant for greatness. That I would be more than my ancestors could have dreamed. I hope I haven’t disappointed her.”</p><p>Solona smiled and nodded in assurance. “You didn’t, Niall.”</p><p>Niall returned the expression, and seemed to begin fading out of view. At the same time, the Fade around them began to lose even the cohesion of its raw landscape, and Niall raised his hand goodbye as he observed, “It is time for us both to be on our way. Remember the Litany. The Circle is all that matters now. Thank you, and goodbye… my friends.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that turned out longer than I anticipated, and barely finished in time. Life has been catching up; oh, well.</p><p>On the bright side: More Solona, Varena beginning to deal with her (recent) past, and I managed to work in two iconic lines from Classic Who and one from Obi-Wan Kenobi, plus some prime Julian snark and his thoughts on the Experience Machine and the nature of heroism. Solona's comments to the demon were also informed by my reaction to Wynne's, who acts like she wasn't just utterly failing to recognize the Fade moments before.</p><p>Finally, references to Nicol in the previous chapter will make more sense if you re-read Chapter One, which I rewrote some time ago but only now have gotten around to updating.</p><p>See you all back in the Templar chambers!</p>
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